Finding you here
by HeadbangGirl
Summary: What if Faramir and Éowyn met before? What if there was no War of the Ring and the relation between Gondor and Rohan was tense? This is how I believe it could have been when they'd tried to love each other without the disapproval of their families. Enjoy!
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

"Faramir!" He looked up, seeing his brother. He ran over to Boromir. "How are you, my brother?"

"Just fine, thank you," Boromir grinned. "What did you need me for?" Faramir raised an eyebrow. "Father wishes to speak to us. We must go and see him at once," Boromir added commanding. "Yes, yes, I'm coming," Faramir reassured him. They left the courtyard in front of the barracks and headed for the seventh level of the city, where the mighty Citadel of Minas Tirith stood.

As he walked inside, Faramir saw their father sitting on the smaller, black throne that was reserved for the Steward of Gondor.

"Boromir! My son!" Denethor hugged his eldest before looking at Faramir. Their father laid a hand on his shoulder. "Faramir, my last born." It already sounded more distant. He nodded and Faramir smiled slightly – but not quite convincing.

"Why have you called us, my Lord?" Boromir uttered the question the two brothers had in mind.

"I need you to go to Rohan." Faramir noticed how contemptuous he pronounced the country's name. "For our relationships are embittered, and I intend to send a group of ambassadors to Meduseld, the Golden Hall of Théoden King. You, my first born, my finest Captain of Gondor," he said to Boromir, "you will make sure that we will be able to count on Rohan's loyalty again. And you, his brother," he turned to Faramir, "will accompany him. Do you accept the mission tasked to you by your father?"

Boromir bowed and accepted, and so Faramir consented also.

"But why do you suddenly fear Rohan's disloyalty, my liege? Is there a reason for Gondor to fear the defence of our borders?" Faramir asked.

Denethor's friendly smile turned to a frown – followed by a harsh look. "It is not your task to worry about politics, Captain of Gondor."

He was quite stunned by the sharp tone in his father's voice and had no answer to the hidden rejection, but his brother came to his aid. "You can't give him any credit, can you? He's always wrong in your eyes!" Boromir stated. He walked away. Their father followed him and Faramir saw they were arguing.

He decided to take his leave. As he walked to his room, Boromir gained on him. "Did you gossip enough about me?" Boromir sighed – at his brother's displease. "You don't have to worry, brother. I know he's rejecting you unceasingly. I cannot undo that, but I am trying to help you, Faramir. At least, we will be leaving Minas Tirith and father for a while," he grinned.

Faramir patted him on the shoulder. "I'm going to pack. We meet at the stables."

And so he did and left his brother.

He grabbed some clothes – deciding to leave his armour, after all it would be a mission to restore the friendship between two countries. But he did take his sword, dagger and bow and arrows with him.  
After one last look at his room he left and headed for the stables.

There, his brother already held the reins of both their horses. He mounted his horse and they went down the city's levels and left through the gate.

"Ready for our far journey, brother?" Boromir grinned.  
"It's father's wish, and I will fulfil it as always…" he returned – without any satisfied tone in his voice. "Yes, and he will not thank you for it… - as always."

Faramir remained unmoved, knowing his brother was right. His father praising Boromir and rejecting Faramir, it was one of the usual things in his life, and it was not about to change, as it seemed.

"How long will it take to reach Edoras?" "I believe, a day or two. We will see, we do not need to rush, my brother," Boromir smiled.


	2. Chapter 1

**_Hey there!_**

**_I just wanted to give my 'opinion': what if they'd met without any war threatening their lands?  
I don't own any of this!_****_  
PS: I'm from Belgium (only best country ever ^^); so my English is average, but quite good, I guess.  
Even though, if you find any mistakes, I'm sorry but don't take it too serious!  
This story's rather meant to be fun, but I intend to upload another story and someone's helping me with that one, so that might be better - considering spelling and all.  
Whatever!  
Forgive me my interruption and start reading! _**

**_Enjoy!_**

**_******_**

**Chapter 1**

The rain had almost stopped. They were soaking wet, but Edoras came into sight above the hills. As the sun rose Boromir patted him on the shoulder. "We're almost there."

A great wooden construction came into sight, with an important building on top of a hill – by the sight of it. They stopped in front of the gate, where guards brought them to a standstill. "Who are you, strangers? And what is your business here in Edoras?" "We are sons of Gondor. Our task is to be told to none but your king." The men in front of them exchanged gazes before letting them enter the city.

They rode past several houses and reached the stairs that led to Meduseld. They dismounted and bound there horses to a nearby fence. "Come, little brother." Boromir began walking up the stairs, soon to be followed by Faramir. The gate was opened by two guards – only after they'd remarked the two captains should have better taken their weapons off. But Boromir had refused, and the brothers both had referred to the former – or still existing – alliance between Rohan and Gondor.

They came into a beautiful hall, decorated with images of horses and ancient inscriptions. But it could not be compared to the might and glory of Minas Tirith, and Faramir saw Boromir felt the same way.

In the hall there were two men. They were not that young anymore, but still seemed strong and wise. One of them stepped forward. He was wearing his armour with a green cape behind his shoulders. "Tell me… how do we need to interpret your visit to our country, sons of Gondor? What burden does my king have to burry now, in times growing darker?" _Clearly, they already are informed of our coming..._ Faramir thought.

Boromir intended to speak, but the other man came forth.

"My name is Théoden King, son of Thengel, as great a king as my forefathers he was…" Faramir and Boromir bowed before him in respect. He nodded. "As my friend Gamling has asked you before, what is your task to be done here at Edoras? Why have you come, sons of Denethor?"

Boromir waited for him to finish speaking, and stepped forward. "Hail Théoden, son of Thengel. Our visit is to regain peace and friendship between our lands, and for no other matter we have come here." "Well, that suddenly speaks of your respect to Rohan, arriving here so brutal as you did. I-"

"My Lord," Boromir interrupted, "we might not have been very polite to your guards outside, but I have to speak my mind saying that the hospitality of your court is not what I have heard of in the stories my father told me. And-"

Faramir heard his brother would use his rapid tongue again. He stopped him by holding his hand before his chest and so Boromir was silent. "My apologies for our behaviour, my Lord," Faramir spoke. "I have to admit there is truth in my brother's words, but he sometimes speaks before his mind… We have only come here to honor the allegiance Gondor and Rohan once shared, hoping that you would not have forgotten – for neither has our father and liege the Steward. Please, accept my sincere apologies, my King, for I would not have a misunderstanding between us."

The king nodded. "I accept your apologies. But I will not know if I will accept Gondor's. Too much has happened."

"And what would that be, my Lord?" Boromir requested heatedly. "What has Gondor did wrong in your eyes to make you forsake the offered friendship of our country?"

Théoden grinned. "You speak quick, boy, and your words are not foolish – not yet. Gamling," he turned to his lieutenant, "call a servant to prepare a room for these men. They will have my permission to stay here, as long as they desire to. But you did not travel on foot, my friends, did you? Where are your horses?" he asked, turning to the brothers again. "They are standing here, before Meduseld, my King. Tied up to a fence. We are not familiar with the city, so we could not find the stables." "Very well then, get a stable boy to take care of their horses as well."

A sound caught Faramir's attention. On their left, passing through a hallway that led to another side of the hall, he suspected, stood a fair woman watching the two strangers that had arrived. Behind her stood a young man – also dressed in armour like Gamling, but it seemed to be of different kind, with a brown fondant and broad shoulders. He looked distantly at them, she just seemed to see through the two men's intentions.

Théoden saw his gaze was rested upon them. "Eowyn and Eomer, my kin! Join us!" "Who are these men, if I may be so rude to ask, my Lord Théoden King?" the Lady spoke. "Two men from Gondor, my daughter. They have come to visit us to renew our countries' connection," Théoden answered. Eowyn turned away and walked off. Eomer stepped forward. "Forgive my sister, she can not accept easily the heirs of Gondor – nor those of any land." "And why is that, my Lord?" Boromir asked. "To be honest, I do not know… You should ask her yourself…" Eomer retorted. "And gladly I will," Boromir laughed, and so had gained little of Eomer's trust, by humour.

Théoden had called for some wine, and they drunk together, but Faramir was tired and only wanted to get some sleep.

"I must ask you to forgive my son's absence, for he is patrolling our borders," Théoden stated. "But I presume you would not care for his company and want to rest? It is a long journey, coming from Minas Tirith. How is the White City? Long has it been since I've seen her buildings again…" "Our city is well, as always. You should visit us, my Lord, so that you can behold her beauty once more," Boromir invited. "I might, but now I will rest. And so will you, my Lords." And Théoden had someone to show the brothers their room.

Faramir gladly sunk down on his bed, while Boromir sat down on the other one. His brother started talking about politics, but Faramir interrupted him. "Not now, brother! I just want some sleep!" And so, Boromir stopped talking while Faramir let the silent slumber of sleep take over.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Faramir ran into her as he pondered along through Meduseld.

"I am sorry, my Lady."

"You do not need to," Eowyn smiled softly, but looked serious again as he wanted to pursue his walk through the Golden Hall. He changed his mind and turned around. "In fact, I would be honoured if you would accompany me on my walk, my Lady… I do not know my way through Meduseld."

"No, my Lord, I do not desire to join thee. You will be just fine without me." He raised an eyebrow. "If I may ask, my Lady, why do you despise the people of Gondor so? What have we done to you?"

"I do not believe that is for you to ask, son of the Steward. Good day to you."

He nodded and walked along – still wondering what had caused her to think like she did.

Eomer crossed his path, accompanied by a man about the same age. Eomer greeted him smiling, introducing the other man. "This is my best friend and second in command, Háuh. Háuh, this is Lord Faramir of Gondor." The two men nodded at each other and Faramir produced a smile. "Well, I followed your advice, Lord Eomer, but you sister would not tell me what she thinks is so wrong about Gondor…" he grinned. Eomer smirked. "You will have to wait for her to speak then, for I do not know what goes on in that little head of hers." He gently laid his hand on Faramir's shoulder and the two men continued their trip while the steward's son was left alone.

Eventually, he discovered a small library.

As he was looking at the scrolls with ancient texts and symbols, Boromir dropped by. "Ha, I thought I'd find you in between books again! Come my brother, let's have some breakfast – did you already have any?"

"No, I'm coming in a second. The main hall?" Boromir nodded and walked off.

Faramir absently glanced through the scrolls again. He thought of how little he knew of Rohirric… While he could easily learn languages of realms far away, the language of the Eorlingas of Rohan was harder for him to master. He tried to understand the words – in written language it was not that hard – but when he tried to pronounce them it was more difficult.

"Yes, it is a language to be spoken and sang, my Lord," someone said. It was Eowyn, once again. "Well, I did not expect to find _you_ here. Interested in my country's history?" she remarked.

Something about her seemed bitter – it was hard to determine what.

"As I am to any land's, my Lady," he simply said. "It might displease you then, to know that most of our history is to be sung and many of our stories are to be told and sung also in battle riding horses. You will not likely find what you seek here…"

He smiled.

"But I was on my way to have breakfast… Would you care to join me this time, or do you still despise me?" She raised an eyebrow in irritation, but added dryly, "Only as much as ever, my liege." "Yes, for which I am most grateful," he replied. "I will take my leave."

In the main hall, he found Boromir was already eating and Eomer was sitting next to him. Háuh had disappeared. "Join us, my Lord," Eomer smiled. And he did, and found himself sometimes wondering what it was he was eating, and then Eomer only grinned and said it was some Rohirric specialty.

* * *

She found herself looking for what he'd been reading – but that was ridiculous, for what was so interesting about him?

Yes, in a way he was handsome – but so was his brother. She didn't find them any more attractive than her brother – of whom she knew the ladies couldn't keep their eyes off. She smirked at the thought.

"What's so funny?"

She turned around to find Gríma watching her. A cold fell upon her and she felt unable to do anything.

"Nothing…" He entered the room and looked at her intently. "Surely, my Lady does not laugh for no reason…?"

"I… It was just a fragment of a book that I like… Nothing more, Gríma." He seemed to question her answer – what was so important about her laughing? "You may leave now." And she noticed her voice growing stronger and she regained authority and he bowed and left the library.

She tried to focus on something else and dragged her favourite book out of a pile lying there – the place wasn't very tidy lately.

The tales of her country had always fascinated her, and so she lost herself into the beautiful story of Eorl the Young, first king of the first line of Rohan.

* * *

Boromir laughed as Faramir's head hit a branch.

"Well, my brother, you should practice riding," he smirked. "I was too late to avoid it!" Faramir protested. Eomer grinned.

His brother shook his head and forced his horse to go forward. "Are you coming?" Boromir gained on him and they galloped across the plains, but Eomer – grown up in the saddle – passed them both in their wild race through Rohan, although he'd started later riding than they had.

"Come on, Faramir, he's ahead of us! We can't let him win, brother!" Boromir pushed his horse further and further until they both were exhausted; and he had to acknowledge Eomer being the better rider. Eomer turned the horse in triumph and laughed at them.

"We can't all be the best, my friends." He patted his horse's neck, "Well done, Firefoot."

"Maybe it's your horse that outlasts ours – although we only have the finest in Gondor," Boromir stated, and Eomer laughed. "I bet you do, my Lord."

"Why don't we return to Edoras?" Faramir sighed. "If you want to…" And Boromir nodded too and so they returned to Meduseld after a wild ride.

In the main hall, Eomer and Boromir began a chess game – "To see who has better strategy," Boromir had grinned.

Faramir let them be and withdrew into the library.

Boromir paid attention to Eomer's face – but could deduce very little from it. The Third Marshal of the Riddermark noticed and grinned as Boromir couldn't foresee his next move.

"Checkmate!"

Boromir was stunned. "Already? A strange man you are, Eomer son of Eomund," he smirked. "I will challenge you again, sometime, but now I will go write my father, with you permission." Eomer nodded. "I do have other duties that need to be done, my friend Boromir, and I shall fulfil them as well."

And he left and Boromir headed for their room to write Denethor a letter.

He described the quite warm welcome they'd got – after the hesitation how to respond to their coming. And he mentioned Faramir's interest in Rohan's history – hoping it might ease his father's thoughts about his brother. And he told him of his friendship with Eomer and how Théoden didn't really seem to mind them being here. To finish with, he asked how things were going in Minas Tirith, if they didn't miss him already – he thought his father would appreciate some humour.

He ran into lady Eowyn stepping out the door. "My Lady. How are you today?" She smiled. "Very well, thank you, my Lord," and she walked further down the hall. "Wait. Where can I find a courier to deliver this message to my father?"

"Check the main hall," she said and walked off.

_Strange girl_, he thought. Hold on! What if Denethor required him or Faramir to marry her?

Sure, she was beautiful, but he had no need for a wife or kids. He wanted to live! To be free and fight and die defending his country!

_Faramir should do so then_, he thought. _He wouldn't mind…_

He tried to forget this strange thought that had crossed his mind and went to the main hall in search of a courier.


	4. Chapter 3

**_Hey there!  
This is a very short chapter, I know...  
I thought something had to happen, so I came up with this.  
Tried to end with some sort of cliffhanger, hope it worked ;p  
Hope you like it, and I hope you don't think this happens too fast :D  
Please let me know!  
X_**

**Chapter 3**

Éowyn's eyes opened in shock. She sat up, sweat pouring off her face. The sheets were sticking against her skin and she was almost caught in their tight, rough embrace.

The dream repeated itself before her eyes, in a flash. She did not like it. Gríma's face had been horrifying and the thought of his could fingers touching her cheek, torturing her, was too much to bare. She'd dreamt of her nephew, lying sick and wounded upon his bed and she could do nothing to help him. And Gríma laughing at the sight of him suffering. In between, the image of the two men of Gondor had slid in. She'd felt their fear and sorrow, their guilt. She wondered if it had anything to do with her nephew.

She swallowed, trying to chase the fear away. She pushed the sheets away, wrapped a cloak around her shoulder and left Meduseld. Upon the balcony, looking upon Edoras, a slight, warm breeze waved through her hairs and she calmed down. It was a hot night, but she felt cold and pulled the cloak tighter.

"It is late, my Lady, to be awake at this hour."

She looked over her shoulder, only to find Faramir standing behind her.

"I could say the same thing about you, my Lord." He smiled. "Yes indeed, you could." He walked towards her and she could feel his warmth as he stood right behind her. "What troubles you?"

She shivered. Was it that obvious? "Nothing."

He frowned and looked at her intently. In all of those weeks they'd been here, none of the two brothers had ever been so close to her as Faramir was now – physically, then. "That, I do not believe."

She turned around, facing him, and sank down against a pillar, looking up to him. "I had a dream."

"Ah." He paused. "I take it the dream wasn't a pleasant one?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Nay, my Lord, definitely not." He sat down next to her, glanced at her from underneath his eyelashes and coughed. "Then what was it about, if I may ask?"

She sighed. "My nephew. Gríma." She omitted his part in it.

"Gríma? That counsellor of your uncle?"

"Yes." She shivered.

He smiled. "Your nephew I have not met yet. I hope I will have the honour soon."

"Yes, I believe you will. You and your brother, will you be staying here for a long time?"

"Only the time necessary to gain Rohan's trust again. No longer."

"Ah, so you only desire Théoden King's trust and no more?" She grinned wryly.

"Ay, my Lady, but you were aware of that, weren't you?"

"Yes of course, my Lord. And is there nothing else to keep you here?" she continued grinning. "Rohan's beautiful lands, for example?"

"No," he smiled. "But if so, there would be quite another reason to do so."

"And what would that be?"

He looked at her, a smile playing around his mouth, and then he calmly turned his gaze to the air above them. "The stars are so beautiful."

She laughed. "You're avoiding my question, my Lord."

He glanced at her again. "You look just like them." She frowned. "What? The stars?"

"Yes. The same beauty and mystery covering you. And I never seem to be able to see through it."

She looked into his eyes in confusion. "And why do you say so?"

He leaned forward without any warning, and kissed her briefly upon the mouth. The sudden touch of his lips being pressed upon hers made her shiver, her heart jumped up, she felt dizzy, all at the time.

He let go of her. His eyes searched hers.

She was confused. She felt deceived, in a way. Uncomfortable.

And yet, somehow she missed the soft touch of his lips upon hers already.

She stood up, unstable, and he jumped up as well, helping her to stand up straight. She pulled her arm out of his hands. "I am sorry, Eowyn, I should not have done so." She shook her head and left him.

"Please, Eowyn, do not walk away!" His voice followed her as she entered Meduseld again. All was quiet inside, but the doors opened a second time and he came in, grabbing her wrist, pulling her close to him.

He stood right before her, their bodies almost touching. He let go of her wrist. He was taller than her, her head reached his chin.

"I'm sorry." He whispered.

She opened her mouth to speak her mind...


	5. Chapter 4

******_Hey!  
This is a longer chapter than the one before! :)  
It won't take that long before they'll really fall in love...  
x_**

**Chapter 4**

A door opened. Faramir looked up in confusion, and Éowyn used the opportunity to disappear.

Faramir was left alone, except for the guard appearing out of the darkness, staring at him before walking outside. The steward's son sighed and walked towards his room. Boromir woke up as he closed the door and sank down on his bed. "What are you doing up so late, little brother?" he groaned.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep." Faramir yawned.

He quickly got out of his boots, threw his clothes wherever they wanted to end up and pulled the sheets over his head.

He bit the pillow in annoyance. What was it she'd wanted to say? He had been a fool, kissing her like that! He hated himself.

He turned upon his back and the sheets were like walls closing in on him. He pulled them off his head, breathing the fresh air again. It was cold. Gondor had a warmer climate than Rohan.

According to the looks of it, Boromir was already sleeping.

Faramir sighed and tried to do so as well, but her soft laugh sounded in his ears and whenever he was about to fall asleep, the memory of Eowyn's lips upon his haunted him, and he could not escape it.

* * *

Eowyn was confused.

Not just confused wondering why he'd kissed her. She also could not figure out how she felt herself.

It had been heaven and hell, wrong and right. Time had been a mess, standing still and moving on simultaneously. She'd wanted him to let her go, to stop. And yet, she'd liked the feeling of his lips upon hers.

It was early in the morning when she rose. It didn't matter anyway, she could not sleep.

She put on her boots and went outside, watching the sunrise. Morning's chill reached her and she rubbed her arms to keep warm.

Boromir came out to stand next to her. "My Lady."

"My Lord," she smiled.

"Couldn't you sleep either?" he asked.

"Nay."

"My brother had the same problem," he grinned. "His restlessness kept me up all night." He yawned, as if to prove he'd lost his night's rest.

"It's cold. If you'll excuse me, my Lord?" She had no desire standing here, not knowing what there was to talk about. Boromir nodded and stayed outside as she entered Meduseld again. Not knowing what to do, she decided to head for the library.

Faramir was there, reading a scroll about Rohan's history – one of the few they had. She turned around, not wanting to face him, but he jumped up at the sight of her and stood there staring at her. The sudden movement had caused the book to fall on the floor.

She felt obliged to stay, so she picked up the book, pushed it into his hands and sat down. "Why did you kiss me?"

He frowned. "I thought that was obvious, my Lady."

"Apparently it is not," she muttered.

"You are one of the things that could make me stay here," he smiled. "And I believe that there is nothing that needs to be added to that explanation."

She felt as if she could melt hearing the soft voice.

"Thank you for the compliment, son of Gondor, but I do not desire the love of a man I hardly know, nor any man's love."

He grinned. "A strong and independent woman you are indeed, Lady of Rohan. And I will leave if that is what you want."

"And with leave, you mean the library or Rohan?"

"Both, if I have to. By your lead, my Lady." He stretched out his arm towards the door. Eowyn produced a smile and left for her room. She sank down on her bed. _And men say we're hard to understand!_

* * *

Eomer walked towards the main hall, in search of his uncle.

Théoden was having breakfast, Gríma sat by his side. _At least, he can't bother my sister_, Eomer thought embittered.

"Eomer! Join us!" Théoden smiled.

Eomer reluctantly sat down facing his uncle's counsellor.

"Have you heard anything of my son yet?" Eomer bit his lower lip. "No, my King. Not a word."

Théoden intently studied Eomer's face. "I am worried. He should be riding east now, and still I have not heard from him." Eomer knew the feeling, he too was concerned.

"If he does not send a courier within two weeks from now, I will go search for him, uncle."

"Gríma, you may leave." Waving his hand, Théoden dismissed his counsellor.

Théoden laid a hand upon Eomer's shoulder. "Thank you, Eomer. I'm glad you're with me." Eomer smiled up to his king. "I thank you for your concerns, uncle. Without you I wouldn't know what to do… You're like a father to me."

Théoden smiled in return. "But never forget your own kin, Eomer. Eowyn needs you. And those who are gone… Your mother was fair and brave. And your father was an honourable man, strong and courageous. You look just like him. The same strong will, the same face." He paused. "And I need you too. Not just to serve your King, Third Marshal of the Mark. You're my family, and I will never abandon my kin. Never forget that."

Eomer felt joyful, knowing this man loved him. Of course, he'd known that for a long time; but still, Théoden had never said so out loud.

He found the two men of Gondor outside and asked them to ride out together one more time. Riding cleared his head and made him feel comfortable.

* * *

He liked her, Eowyn, but she seemed so out of reach – a ghost, and he was never able to gain on her before she disappeared.

He should never have gone so far.

It had never been his meaning to reject her, and he regretted his foolish actions already.

Faramir hoped she wouldn't tell her uncle – or brother; but considering his offer to go riding yesterday, he presumed Eomer didn't know. And that she would not avoid him – even though there was a chance she would, and this morning she had been close to do so.

He sighed and looked out over Edoras.

He heard footsteps coming towards him. "Boromir?"

His brother laughed. "What's wrong? You look a little worried…"

"Oh, nothing. I just though about father." It wasn't even a total lie, his father did cross his mind from time to time.

And then, suddenly, Boromir left, looking at something – or someone – behind Faramir.

It was her. "Eowyn-" he gasped out; but restored soon, "-my Lady, I mean… What are you doing here?"

"Nothing special," she smiled. "I came to see if you were all right. After such heavy poetic thinking, you should be tired, I presume? Did you even survive?"

He frowned. She probably referred to his quote this morning, 'You are one of the things that could make me stay here' – and that thought made him feel more like a fool, because he took it she found it quite terrible.

"Yes, in fact I did, my Lady. Why do you ask? Are you angry with me for what I've done? I am most angry myself for doing so – if it may be of any comfort…"

She laughed out loud – that same enchanting laugh he'd only heard once during the weeks they'd been here, and he loved to hear it again.

"Well, that is the second time you're laughing on my account, my Lady. Should I be offended?"

"No indeed not, son of Gondor," she said, still smirking, "you make me laugh – consider yourself happy being the only one who did for a long time."

"Then I am most pleased; for I have already wondered what it is that makes you look so unhappy-" She turned away from him. "That is not yours to ask, my Lord."

"I am sorry, Eowyn, to have offended or troubled you in any way," he said.

She gazed over her shoulder but did not speak.

"If you don't mind, I will go search for my brother." He walked off.

"Lord Faramir!"

"Yes?"

"I do not blame you for anything, if you care to know."

Faramir nodded. "I am glad to hear so, my Lady. Your acceptation means a lot to me, if that matters to you."

He though to have said too much and turned to leave for the stables, where Boromir was.

"Why did you leave?" Boromir shrugged his shoulders. "Does that matter?"

"Yes, it does," Faramir groaned.

"I just wanted to take care of my horse, that's all."

"Nay, you were looking behind me… And why do you look after your horse now? Are we leaving Rohan?"

"No, we are not, because Théoden King has not answered to our father's demand yet and he has to!" His brother suddenly seemed very frustrated and angry. Faramir stepped back. "Easy, Boromir! Is something wrong? I haven't seen you around lately…"

Boromir looked away from his brother, suddenly calmed down. "No. No, I'm fine, brother. I just long for Minas Tirith; but we are needed here."

"Needed, not really – but yes, it is father's wish. Did he sent a letter yet?" Boromir shook his head. "I already sent him five, and he hasn't sent me any more news since two weeks ago."

Faramir stepped forward and absently patted the horse.

"We're just hanging around here, doing nothing whatsoever; waiting for some old king to offer his alliance…"

He looked up hearing Boromir's voice. "I know brother, be patient. Think of father! He would not concede that easily and would consider it, yes? Well then, we will wait for the king to think about it and we will be out of here within a couple of weeks."

Boromir sighed. "I hope you're right."


	6. Chapter 5

**_Another short chapter...  
This is more to express the doubt both Faramir & Eowyn have after that kiss.  
And especially Eowyn is confused because of the constant attraction and rejection between her and Faramir.  
And the last part of this chapter just was fun :D ...  
but it somehow resulted from Eowyn's confusion, I guess.  
And I'll explain later...  
Have fun reading!  
x_**

**Chapter 5**

Boromir wondered what went on in his brother's head. How could he be angry when he only gave him some private time with Eowyn? Yes, he'd seen the looks his brother sent her – and she never seemed to answer them in the way Faramir would like.

And he only tried to protect his brother from getting hurt…

Boromir grinned wryly. What would their father do if he'd find out about his brother's love for her? He probably would consider a marriage, so that Rohan and Gondor would be connected. But would he concede? Boromir doubted that.

He walked towards the main hall to get some breakfast. Théoden gave him a letter. "Denethor sent it."

Boromir ate quickly and went towards their room to read it, he thought the people of Rohan shouldn't meddle with his affairs. Faramir came in. "I heard you received a letter?"

"Yes. Let me read it first…" he paused. "Dear Boromir…" he began murmuring the lines. "Hmmm… Minas Tirith's fine… Some Orc-trouble. How's Faramir? Does Theóden give in yet?" He groaned. "Faramir! Look!"

His brother leaned forward over his shoulder to see the letter. The last sentences were staring at them, sharply formed with black ink.

I need you to stay another week, at least, my son. Minas Tirith is fine without you – to my surprise – and I must be sure of Théoden's allegiance.

Faramir sighed. "Another week…"

"What? Don't you like it here, with Eowyn?" Boromir grinned. Faramir softly slapped his cheek. "Go ahead, brother, laugh. Wait until someone conquers your heart," he stated exaggerating.

"Nay, little brother, I do not desire any love-affairs."

Boromir quickly placed his finger upon the very last sentence of the letter, before Faramir gave him another sharp retorted answer.

When my work allows me to, I will visit you. But that will probably be in three weeks, considering the urgent matters that require my attention.

"Oh great, now father will come himself, omitting the irritating letters." Faramir pulled a sad face. Boromir laughed. "You know father. He'll stay here for a day or two, and then he'll be off to Minas Tirith, worrying about these 'urgent matters'."

Faramir groaned. "I hope so."

* * *

Rohan was beautiful, the grass wet because of the early morning dew.

Eowyn wondered why Théodred had been gone that long. She had shared her concerns with her brother, and once she had referred to it in front of Boromir and Faramir.

Boromir seemed a strong man. The typical older brother: protective, stern and wise. Yet, she felt as if Faramir was wiser than his brother. He was more quiet, yet had an opinion of his own, but never seemed willing to share it.

Why should she even think of the two brothers? She didn't care… Did she?

Eowyn sighed, blowing the blonde hair out of her face as she did. A week had passed since that kiss, and she'd tried to avoid Faramir in every possible way.

And now she was galloping across the plains of Rohan, with Faramir, Boromir and Eomer by her side. She felt uncomfortable with them, except for her brother. He was the only one who seemed to act normal. Faramir just tried to act like it, but she could see he wanted her to like him. And Boromir… Boromir was hard to figure out, and that intrigued her, but he seemed so diplomatic, politics mattered to him, and fighting. In that way, he wasn't so inscrutable.

Windfola suddenly stopped as Faramir had come to a standstill before her. "Easy girl," she patted the mare's neck. "Couldn't you watch out?"

"I'm sorry, my Lady. My horse suddenly stopped and I didn't think you were right behind me…"

Eowyn saw Boromir and Eomer riding ahead, not having noticed the two had stayed behind, and her last hope to keep Faramir silent faded away as they did.

He turned his horse and stopped next to her. "You never really accepted my apologies, my Lady."

She looked away. "Why should I?" She gently pushed her heels in Windfola's flanks, and the horse started walking.

He came after her. "I told you I was sorry, Eowyn. What more do you expect?"

"Just be silent!"

He frowned. "If I bother you, you should tell me." He took the reins of her horse.

"You would not listen."

"That is not true."

"How-"

"You do not know me, Eowyn. I believe I can figure myself ou-"

She pressed a kiss upon his lips. Her fingers pulled his off the reins and she let him go, riding towards her brother.

As she looked back, he still stood there, staring at her.


	7. Chapter 6

**_Another short chapter, but the next one will ...  
well, find out when you get & read chapter 7!  
Guess you won't like it...  
Ha! Left you with another cliffhanger :D  
X_**

**_Explanations:  
* 'Sig' = 'victory' & '_****_Brand' = '(flaming) sword' ; so Sigbrand should mean 'Flaming Sword of Victory'.  
_****_* 'Gerich veleth nîn' = 'You have my love' (Sindarin)_ **

**Chapter 6**

Eomer left the main hall. He panicked.

He turned around, walked in again. The man in front of him cried. Blood trickled out of his mouth, out of his nostrils. His face was filthy, blood and mud ran dry all over it. He shivered.

"Sigbrand?" The man looked up. "Tell me again, what did you see?" Eomer tried to stay calm, but there was a tremble in his voice. This man belonged to Théodred's éored, and here he was, wounded. He feared his nephew wasn't better off.

"Orcs all over. We weren't strong enough…"

Théoden shouted, "Where are they?"

"East. Near Aldburg."

Théoden and Eomer exchanged gazes. "I will go. Now. We will find them. Any survivors?" he turned to Sigbrand. The man shook his head. "I don't know."

"Gamling, call my éored. We leave in an hour." Gamling followed his order.

"Make haste," Théoden ordered Eomer.

"Yes, my liege." Eomer bowed.

* * *

Eowyn cried. Fear grew in her heart.

Faramir walked into the library, but he hesitated to go any further as he saw her crying. She rose from her chair. "I'm afraid I've lost him."

"Who?" He carefully stepped forward.

"Théodred. One of his men arrived. Wounded." She thought he had to fill in the gaps himself.

"Oh, Eowyn… What do you want me to do?"

She raised an eyebrow as he asked. He gently wrapped his arms around her and she let herself sink into his embrace.

"Eowyn, Eowyn," he murmured her name. "I love you."

She felt paralysed. His hand stopped caressing her back as he felt how tense she was.

He kissed her, hesitating at first, but more convinced as she let him. His soft kiss comforted her and she finally dared to admit she liked him, maybe even loved him.

She pulled back.

Faramir stared at her in surprise.

"Go find him," she begged, "please."

His eyes widened in shock for a moment, but he nodded. "I will do as I can. For you, my love." He kissed the back of her hand, murmuring "Gerich veleth nîn", and left.

* * *

Faramir threw the door open. "We're leaving."

Boromir looked up. "What?"

"They're going to search for Théodred and his company. I'm going. It's the least we can do," he added.

"I'm coming with you. Finally some action!" Boromir immediately grabbed his sword, buckled it around his waist and left the room.

Faramir grabbed his bow and arrows, dagger, made sure his sword was caught to his waist and followed his brother.

"Eomer!"

The Horse Lord stepped towards them. "Yes, what is it? I'm in a hurry"

"We want to join you."

Eomer raised an eyebrow. "We will ride fast. No resting. Will you be able to, Men of Gondor?"

Next to him, Faramir nodded, and Boromir added that they were the best riders of their city. Eomer stopped protesting. "We leave now." Boromir looked him in the eyes. "We're ready."

They left Meduseld, heading for the stables. Boromir quickly saddled his horse. Everyone was hasty, ready for battle. He felt his blood roaming through his veins, faster and faster. He looked forward to fight again, to show his value. He had been sitting and talking long enough.

Eomer shouted. "Come, my men! Now we leave to save my kin and all of your friends! We will kill these enemies once again! The people of Rohan are proud of their valour, now, show them!"

They started galloping. In between the large group of riders, Boromir looked behind. It was the last time he'd ever see Edoras again…


	8. Chapter 7

******_Hey!  
This is a very important chapter, so I tried to make it one of the best until now.  
In this one, EVERYTHING will CHANGE!  
And, with that, all is said.  
I hope you like it, and please comment! It's always nice to know you like it, and I hope you (still) do :)  
x_**

**Chapter 7**

After one day of riding, they saw a pile of dead and wounded men, sometimes Orcs, but mostly Rohirrim. They dismounted – Faramir stretched his legs after a whole day of sitting in the saddle – and searched for survivors. And as Boromir and Faramir did not know these men, they tried to help by tending the wounded as the Rohirrim searched for their friends.

"Lord Eomer!" Faramir saw Eomer walking over to the man that had called him. "Prince Théodred!"

Eomer bended over. "He's alive!" Faramir stretched out to catch a glimpse of Théodred, but he never got the chance to. Suddenly a band of Orcs attacked them.

Faramir froze for a moment, before reacting. He killed an Orc, another one. His sword turned black. His own hands were covered with dark Orc blood, and his own. The sudden streak of red seemed strange in this forsaken place. The grass turned red as he was stabbed in his leg. The blood glided down onto the ground. It wasn't much, but enough. He angrily cut the Orc's head off.

He suddenly noticed Boromir standing beside him, they stood back to back. His brother ducked and pushed Faramir aside, avoiding a sword coming towards them.

They were separated again.

Faramir saw him falling, an arrow piercing him. He quickly grabbed his bow, killed the Orc archer with an arrow, his hands trembling, and ran over to his brother. "Boromir! Boromir!"

Boromir looked up to him. "Faramir." He smiled, revealing the blood following the line of his teeth.

"You're bleeding!" Faramir quickly pulled the arrow out of his brother's chest. More blood flew out of the wound. He panicked. What had he done? He tried to stop the bleeding with his hands. "Someone help me… Help!" He groaned in despair, almost crying.

Boromir pushed his hands away. "It's too late." Yes, he'd seen it as his brother bled out of his mouth, he'd known it was too late. This couldn't be the end! "No… You can't go!"

Boromir leaned up – it hurt him, Faramir saw it – and embraced his brother. "You'll be a great Steward," the voice sounded whispering in his ear.

"No!" Tears were gliding down his cheek. "You're the Steward, you're the heir! You have to live!"

Boromir smiled as he inhaled his last breath. Faramir cried and closed his brother's eyes. He kissed his forehead in grief.

"Faramir!"

He looked up, parrying the Orc sword. "Thank you, Eomer!"

He began to fight again, with renewed fury and anger. These creatures would pay for his brother's death! The éored defeated them, finally. And Faramir could only think that the victory was too late, too late for Boromir to live.

He felt guilty. He had left, wanting to fulfil Eowyn's wish. And he had got his brother killed doing so.

He sank down onto his knees. Eomer laid a hand upon his shoulder. "I have to go. We will bring those still alive to Edoras. Come."

Faramir shook his head. "Boromir has to go to Gondor. His last journey." He rose, looking his friend into the eyes. "I need to travel fast. I'm leaving now. Please, take his horse with you to Edoras and bring it to Minas Tirith when you can. I can't drag it behind mine, it'll be too slow."

"I shall do so, my friend." Eomer hugged him before mounting Firefoot. "Go, with all the good in this world. May your path be blessed, and may Boromir find peace in death."

Faramir glanced at Théodred, sitting in front of Eomer. His eyes were shut as he shifted in between living of dying. "And may you be blessed also. I hope your nephew makes it. May he have a better fate than my brother did."

Eomer nodded and quickly turned his horse. He ordered someone to take Boromir's horse and his éored left, carrying their injured friends. Some stayed behind, to burry their friends, Faramir guessed, but maybe the others would return to bring them to their families.

He picked up his bow, that he'd dropped earlier. Furthermore he figured he'd lost nothing, except of course what he'd left at Edoras. He took Boromir's body, placed it before him onto his horse. This wasn't good. It felt wrong to transport his brother that way, but he had no other choice. He had no boat and did not desire to make one. He just wanted to get his brother home as soon as possible, so that he could have a funeral a steward's son worthy.

He rode to Minas Tirith and did not stop. As he finally entered the city, people came out to see him, but they cried as they noticed Boromir was dead. And rumour spread, being told and whispered, going from mouth to mouth. _Boromir is dead._ And rumour had reached the Citadel before Faramir had.

His father waited for him. "No! This isn't true! It's a lie." But then he saw Boromir. Faramir carefully dismounted as two servants pulled his brother's body off the horse. His father wept at the sight of him.

"You!" He turned to him, his voice sharp. "Why did he fall?"

Faramir stepped back. "Shot by an Orc. We rode out with Eomer's éored, and we were attacked."

"He cannot have fallen! The strongest man in Gondor cannot be dead!" For the first time in his life, Faramir saw his father crying. He did not remember him doing that as his mother had died – but he was so little then, he could hardly remember anything about her.

"He is, father. He is dead." Faramir whispered, his voice trembled, and yet it seemed as if he shouted for the entire city to hear. He laid a hand upon Denethor's shoulder, but he pushed it off him. "Do not touch me! You should have helped him! It's your fault he's dead! You fault, and those cursed Rohirrim's! They will pay for this!"

His father sharply turned his head towards Faramir. "You should have helped him."

"He did not want to! He felt it was too late! And I wanted t-"

"Be silent! You will leave for Ithilien this instant, and you will bring the Ithilien company to Rohan."

"Father, I have not slept in three days!" Denethor shouted. "You will obey me. Go."

"And why to Rohan?"

"Gondor will go to war."

"War? What? Father, this is… you cannot…" He rephrased. "By the Valar! You cannot declare war! They almost lost their prince!"

"And we lost our steward!"

"Who was this wise man that once told me a man should not be a coward attacking one who is not able to fight back? This is the same! Rohan is mourning!"

"That man does not exist anymore. All that is left is a father in grief, wanting to revenge his son."

"A fool, that is! Gondor is mourning, just as much as Rohan does. They have lost their steward's heir! You cannot send these men into battle!" His father was about to protest, but for once, Faramir tried to ignore him. "Besides, Rohan is not to blame! It was an Orc that killed him, no Rohirric soldier!"

"Orcs are nowhere to be found, and the people of Rohan should have protected my son!"

"They have lost their own beloved ones!"

"Do not speak to me like that, boy!" Faramir bit his lip. "Yes, that is what you are! A foolish little boy, who dares to object his father's will!"

"Then if I am so foolish, why would you bother calling me a captain?"

"Do not torture me with you ridiculous questions, boy! You will do as I tell you and you will leave this instant! Go!"

Faramir turned on his heels. He grabbed the reins of his horse, mounted it and spurred it as fast as it could go. To Ithilien.

* * *

Eowyn realised she'd been wrong. It was her fault Boromir was dead. She had used Faramir. She had wanted someone to bring her nephew back, and Faramir had been the perfect man to do so.

She buried her face into her hands. She really had used him! And Boromir's death and Faramir's sorrow now both haunted her in evil dreams and even by day, she could not escape.

And now Gondor had declared war. And Rohan was weaker than it had been before.

Eowyn didn't know how Gondor was, but it seemed they were not that strong either. Now, Gondorian soldiers roamed the plains of Rohan, they were quick and dark as the shadows, and always managed to kill someone or do harm in any way. To react against it, Eomer was sent out to patrol their borders – and even deeper into the centre of Rohan, these rangers came. Eomer, because Théodred had died. Her nightmare had become true. She had seen him weaken with every second, and there had been nothing to cure him. A tear slid down her cheek as she thought of Théodred.

She entered the main hall of Meduseld. Her uncle and Gamling were studying a map of Middle-Earth. "They are getting deeper and deeper into the Eastfold, my Lord. We must stop them!"

"Yes, Gamling, but they act quickly and are hard to locate."

"These 'rangers' only prove that Gondor is weak, my King. They will not risk open war."

"That is true," Théoden spoke. "But they are dangerous anyway, killing at will."

"Send a courier to the Steward, my Lord?" Eowyn uttered carefully. "Surely, if he wants to fight Rohan, he must have a proper reason, and if we can not defend ourselves, it would be cowardly of him to act like this."

"He already does, Eowyn. These men roaming our lands, you do not think they decided this by themselves, do you? He sent them here, Denethor of Gondor." Her uncle spat on the ground.

"You could always try to bring him to reason?"

"Very well, I'll send a courier. But do not hope, Eowyn. The man is crazy enough to kill every child in our country without any good reason…"

"Then, at least you tried, uncle."

* * *

Faramir was disgusted by the way they attacked Rohan. He thought it even worse knowing his father could be so cruel towards innocent people. He thought of the ones he had killed, and it almost caused him to vomit. Orcs… he did not bother killing them. But the Rohirrim! They had done nothing wrong.

And they were Eowyn's people. In fact, he hurt her and she did not deserve it.

He longed for her, to tell him it was all right. He wanted to tell her what had happened, so she would understand it wasn't his fault.

The sound of hooves brought him back to Rohan. He saw Eomer, leading his éored. Faramir signalled his men to remain silent. They hid in the bushes, but to his regret, Rohan was an open land, and there were no decent places to hide. Eomer saw them.

His éored rode towards them, and they surrounded the Ithilien Company. There was nothing he could do to stop them, their numbers were too great. Faramir took his hood off and put his hands up in the air. "Eomer! It is me, Faramir!"

Eomer dismounted and entered the circle, drawing his sword. _How can we already be enemies now, if we were friends not that long ago?_ He placed it against Faramir's neck. "Ah, our poor steward's son! Look, men, we've got an important catch!"

Faramir cleared his throat. "I come in peace, Eomer."

"In peace?" Eomer shouted. "That is not what I've heard, son of Gondor! You kill and burn. And for what? You never even told me! And I thought we were such good friends," he added sneering.

"We are! At least, for my part. I just had to follow my father's orders, Eomer. As you have to follow Théoden's."

The sword pricked into his flesh. "Answer me quickly, steward. What is your purpose here? Hurry, or I'll cut your throat!"

Faramir almost started to laugh – he always did when he was nervous. "You wouldn't dare. I'm too valuable to you."

"Indeed, you are, but I could kill him." He brought his sword to Mablung's chest. Mablung looked at Faramir, he saw fear in the man's eyes. "Stop! If you let my men go, I will send them back to Ithilien. I will go with you to Edoras, captive or not, and I will try to explain why we came here."

Eomer's gaze rested upon Faramir. His dark eyes looked intently into Faramir's grey-blue pair. "How do I know you will keep your vow?"

"I swear it. Upon my brother's blood."

Eomer shook his head. "That is not enough, I deem."

"You should know I'm an honest man, Eomer. But all right, if you do not think it's enough to swear to my brother… If I may?" He took his hunting knife, and cut the palm of his hand. "Then, I swear it to my own blood." He did not move a muscle as the blood trickled off, down to the ground. He raised his hand for everyone to see, his head held high, not wanting to give in. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, but he would not have all of his men killed.

"But, Eomer, swear that nothing will happen to my men. If I stay, they are free to go. And they will leave for Ithilien, I promise."

Eomer frowned. Faramir's heart began beating faster as the Third Marshal of the Mark opened his mouth to speak…


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The rope cut his hands. He turned his wrists, but it didn't bring him any more comfort, so he renounced trying. At least, his hand had stopped bleeding, and Eomer had even given him time to apply a bandage – well, a simple cloth.

Faramir slightly went up and down as his horse moved forward, and it wasn't easy keeping his balance with his hands tied up against his back. It was a warm day, even for Rohan, and sweat glided off his forehead as the sun sent her warmth down on him.

Eomer rode up front. It was as if he felt Faramir's gaze rested upon him, since he glanced over his shoulder. The captain of Gondor quickly looked away. He didn't want to provoke anything.

Faramir gritted his teeth in irritation. Why was Eomer acting so… so… full of hatred? The only thing he'd done was following his father's orders, and he knew it was wrong.

Edoras came into sight. Just in time. The heat became unbearable, and he was sweating uncontrollably – but, he had to admit, at the thought of meeting Théoden, Eomer and Eowyn again, he got warm without any sun involved. Especially considering the state of things right now.

The Rohirrim looked surprised to see Faramir back in this condition. He felt an outlaw, the son of the steward seemed miles away. At least his men were safe, that was more important than his life. Eomer helped him to dismount and tasked someone to take care of his horse. He grabbed Faramir by the arm and dragged him towards Meduseld. Faramir was too tired to protest.

"Eomer, please, give me some water, I'm so thirsty…" His voice sounded hoarse. The Horse Lord raised an eyebrow. "Inside." Faramir wondered if he was meant to go inside, or if he would find water in Meduseld? The answer came quickly.

Inside, Eomer cut the rope around his wrist – "Don't try to escape," he'd shouted – and he gave him a cup. Faramir quickly splashed some water in his face, since he had the opportunity, and drank the rest. The water tasted bitter in his mouth, although he usually thought water had no taste at all. He grabbed his wrists and rubbed them to keep the blood running through.

A door opened, and Théoden appeared, followed by Gamling and Eowyn. His heart jumped up at the sight of her. Théoden stopped right in front of him – blocking his sight. He looked the king in the eyes.

"Théoden King." He bowed, before realising that was rather hypocritical.

"Faramir." The king frowned. "How dare you to come here as my guest, honouring my house, and then you leave suddenly to return with your 'Ithilien Company'." Théoden seemed to look down upon the company, hearing him speak.

"There is no need to despise my Company, Théoden King. They surely have proved their skills in Rohan – although without your approval."

Faramir bit his lip. Wrong, wrong! He shouldn't scoff at the man before him. Wasting his life wouldn't make things any better.

"You'd better be silent, son of Denethor, if you wish to leave this hall alive. At least, choose your words more carefully."

"I am sorry, my liege. That was totally inappropriate, and did nothing to the matter."

"Maybe a night in a cell would teach you you're not in the position to speak that way?"

"I do not deserve any better, my Lord." Faramir willingly let them take him away. It was no use to say things that had nothing to do with the matter. He could think it over nonetheless.

* * *

Mablung entered the citadel. They had reached Minas Tirith by nightfall, after galloping to Gondor. Now, the company was exhausted, but Mablung thought he should report Faramir's arrest.

Denethor nodded to tell him he could come forth. "Yes?"

"I am Mablung, my Lord. Ithilien Company, second in command."

The steward frowned. "Why did you return? Where is your captain?" Mablung swallowed. "We were discovered by the Rohirrim, my Lord Steward. Your son surrendered so that, in return, his men had safe passage to Gondor."

"And you let him?" The stern voice filled the citadel.

"He wanted to, my Lord," Mablung shrugged. "He wanted us to be safe."

Denethor waved his hand. "You may go."

Mablung could just hear him murmur as he left the citadel. "The fool."

* * *

Eowyn stretched out to her full length. "I need to go talk to him. Let me in." Reluctantly, the guard took the key and opened the door. "Five minutes, m'Lady."

Faramir rose as the door opened, and he smiled as he saw it was her. "Eowyn!" He hesitated. "I've missed you…"

She laid her hands against his chest as he wanted to hug her, and pushed him away. He looked astonished. "No. There's something I have to tell you." He took her hands. "What?"

"I… I u-" Suddenly she burst into tears. "It's my fault Boromir's dead!"

"No, Eowyn! I left! And he wanted to come with me! Why should it be your fault?"

"Because… I…" She shook her head. "I can't tell you. Not yet."

He raised her chin, and she looked into his beautiful grey-blue eyes. "Then, do not speak, my love." His whispers made her shiver, and she smiled as he kissed her. His kiss was more soft than she could remember, and she felt as if her feelings didn't matter anymore. Her guilt didn't matter. She just had to be with him, and everything would be all right. He loved her, and that was all she wanted.

"I love you, Faramir."

He smiled. "I love you too. Now, go. You do not belong in this cell."

She took his hand and pinched it. "I belong everywhere, as long as it's with you. You will get out of here."

He shook his head. "This war has started with all the wrong reasons. Ridiculous reasons. It has to end. And if it doesn't, I'd rather be here, in this cell, instead of hearing my father's complaints." He pressed a kiss upon the back of her hand. "Go."

She had found love. And he would not be the man her uncle would choose her to marry. He would not be the perfect brother-in-law for Eomer. At least, not at first. But that did not matter. Now, for the first time in her life, she knew love, true love. And it already seemed she would be forced to let him go.


	10. Chapter 9

**_Hey again!  
For this chapter: special thanks to Fostersb, who helped getting some inspiration!  
And, as always, even if I don't always say it, thanks to everyone who reviewed and reads my story/stories! :)  
This one, Finding You Here, has become rather important to me,  
and I've noticed I don't always put in a lot of emotions in my characters, so I'll try to change that and give them some more depth.  
& I'll try to make chapters not too short as well...  
I know I used some lines directly out of the movie this time. (eg: 'do not trouble me with Faramir, I know his uses and they are few') Don't own it, of course :D  
And I know I gave Faramir dark hair (like in the books), but you can imagine him as in the movies  
[David Wenham!(l) *drooling* ^^] Karl Urban(l) *drooling again* :) , Miranda Otto, Sean Bean, etc.]  
Btw, I'm quite proud of the nightmare, hope you like it :)  
Oh, and for all you Eomer-fans, he's got a special moment in this chapter, find out :D  
x; love you!_**

**Chapter 9**

Faramir straightened his back. His eyes didn't let go of Théoden's face, not once. A sudden sense of pride caught Eowyn. This was the love of her life, and his strength and valour did not weaken as he stood before the king of Rohan.

"So, tell me again," Théoden's voice sounded, "why did you come here?"

"I only followed my father's orders, sir." Her uncle frowned. "Even if it means killing innocent people?"

"I tried to tell my father it wasn't your fault, my Lord, but he would not listen. Yet, do not blame the Steward… he is a man in grief."

"So am I. I take it that you don't know my son died?"

Faramir looked utterly surprised. "No, my King! No-one told me… I… I'm sorry." He stared down at his feet, but as Théoden spoke again, he was forced to look at him.

"I'm grieving for my son, and so is your father. Still, your father has you, he had two sons. I only had one. And do you see me blaming you for something you never did? No. I do not blame you, man of Gondor, for my son's death. And your father does blame me. Tell me, who is weak now?"

"I… I cannot answer that. Yes, my father has weakened over the years, but he once was a wise man – maybe he still is, and you underestimate him. Therefore, give me permission to leave for Gondor. I will try to convince him to stop this madness."

"Madness?" Théoden repeated. "So you think your father's wrong?" "Yes," Faramir sighed, "I do not approve of his actions. Yet, I can understand why he did this."

The king shook his head and answered Faramir's former question. "No. I cannot let you leave here. You're the perfect prisoner: you can make him change his mind. He will retreat permanently to keep you alive."

"What? You're going to kill me in some prison? For that, I cannot respect you, my Lord. That is neither brave nor honourable."

"No it isn't. And now you're wondering if I really intend to kill you or not…" her uncle tried to figure out the captain's thoughts, yet seemed to remain a mystery himself.

"Of course you won't," Faramir nearly shouted. "As I said before, I'm far too valuable for you."

Théoden turned around, scowling. "Take him to his cell."

As the guards grabbed him, he pushed them away. "I can go myself." And indeed, he went, off to his prison. Eowyn caught his eye, and she saw so much love, pride and valour in them, she knew he would be all right.

"Uncle! What are we going to do now?" Théoden looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"You cannot keep him here for ever! His father is probably planning his next attack right now! He won't stop until Faramir's safe in Minas Tirith, and Rohan has learned his lesson."

"What? Are you choosing the steward's side, sister?" Eomer groaned. "Of course not, Eomer," she retorted heatedly. "It's just… so obvious. Surely, you know uncle, that he will not stop."

"Then what do you want me to do, my sister-daughter? I cannot let the boy go free, can I?"

"Hardly a boy," Eowyn whispered, but she made sure to do it silently, so they wouldn't be able to hear her, and she turned to her uncle again. "Send a courier to Denethor… As you said before, he will give in when he hears his son is held prisoner in Meduseld."

"He knows that, Eowyn!" "I know, Eomer, of course he knows! I mean- He will give in. Even he has to honour the bond between our countries."

Eomer and Théoden exchanged gazes.

* * *

Just another ten minutes, and Eomer would see the city of Minas Tirith. It was said to be very beautiful, but that, he thought, would be for him to decide.

Yet, indeed, as the ten minutes had passed, he thought the city was beautiful, but in a different way when he compared it with Edoras. He hoped the welcome would be friendly.

As he entered the gate, a company of soldiers ran into him. "What is your purpose here?"

"I only bring a message to your Steward, my friends," he grinned. "From Théoden King." Their leader stepped forward. "I thought Rohan and Gondor were at war?" "Then you heard correctly."

"So, why does Théoden send one of his men to deliver a message? He could get you killed."

Eomer shook his head. "He would not send his own kin to death."

"Ah, you're family?"

"Yes, I'm his nephew," Eomer said proudly. It suddenly occurred to him that, if Théoden died, he would be king – Théodred was dead… He thought of their childhood. They had been best friends, telling each other their secrets, conspiring against his sister… He smiled at the though – a hidden smile.

"And besides," Eomer added, "Denethor's son is at Edoras now. He would not risk anything, would he?"

"Fine, I'll take you to our steward." Their leader tasked the others to finish their patrol. He himself would take Eomer to the steward, and the rest left for some alley.

Eomer felt as if he knew this man. Suddenly it came back to him. "Aren't you that guy I threatened recently?"

"I don't know, do you threaten people a lot?"

"No, not often." "Then it probably was my lucky day, then," the man groaned.

"Ah, yes, you were with the steward's son, in Rohan." Eomer tried to remain friendly. After all, he would just deliver a message, he would not threaten anyone – again.

"Yes. Mablung," the man introduced himself.

"Eomer. Third Marshal of the Mark." Mablung grinned, and added, "Ithilien Company. Second in command."

"Ha, so I picked the right person to threaten then."

"Yes, actually, you did."

They left for the seventh level, and Eomer found himself thinking this was an old city, it had a history. The history of a strong, proud folk. And indeed, they had something to be proud of. Eomer's thoughts were interrupted by Mablung. "Here we are. The citadel." As the Third Marshal looked up, he saw a magnificent building – and he had to admit, it was quite different from Meduseld. They both were majestic, with their history and a nation that was proud that history, but this was so… so… – he had no words for it.

He dismounted and handed Firefoot over to a soldier. As they entered the citadel, Mablung told him to wait and he left Eomer, walking forward to talk to the steward.

Denethor rose, telling him to come forth. Eomer was surprised as he stepped over the threshold. He'd expected to see an old man, but not as old as this! Well, Denethor _looked _old, maybe he wasn't.

"So, Théoden's nephew, I understand? What are you doing here?" The steward's voice was cold as ice.

"Yes, my Lord. Eomer, son of Eomund," he introduced himself, "Third Marshal of the Mark. I've got a message for you, from Théoden King."

"Why should I listen to you, Third Marshal of the Mark, if you are the reason my son was killed!"

"Boromir's death was my fault? Surely, you should have listened to Faramir," Eomer reacted heatedly. Instinctively, his fingers grasped the hilt of his sword. He had to calm himself down and tried to convince himself drawing it wasn't any good.

Denethor glanced at his sword for a moment. "I did. Faramir told me they rode out with you and your éored. So, you did not protect Boromir."

"What? I fought alongside your sons, and we fought for our lives! I mourn just as much as you do, my Lord Steward!" Eomer couldn't stand this any longer. He let his fingers tighten their grip. This man was accusing him in the face, for no reason, saying he was a fool and a coward! And he would not tolerate that! "If it would have helped, I would have tried to save him, but it was too late!"

"My son is dead! And where is Faramir? At Edoras?" The man before him shouted.

"Yes. He's in prison. And if you leave Rohan alone, we will release him. So please, for the sake of my people, for the sake of your son, retreat! Do not send your soldiers to our lands. Forget the past." Eomer tried to be friendly again, knowing it was important.

"Forget the past?" The steward lowered his voice, increasing the threat slumbering underneath his words. "For you, that's easy to say. For me, an old man, that's not so easy. I have seen many things in my life, Eomer son of Eomund, and they will haunt me, wherever I go. So do not speak of forgetting, for there is too much to forget."

"And your son? At least, save him. He is in enemy hands, my Lord – if you attack us, he will be in danger." Eomer could threaten this man as well.

"Faramir? Do not trouble me with him, I know his uses and they are few." That startled Eomer. Did Denethor care this less for his second-born?

"Then, why did you send him to Edoras?"

"That's none of your business, boy! You will leave Minas Tirith this instant, go to your so-called king, and tell him Gondor and Rohan are at war. Go!"

Eomer groaned, but left the citadel. He had tried, and he had failed. There was nothing that could keep him here now.

Nothing?

A girl walked past him. She had long, dark hair, a light brown skin. She looked at him for a moment. Her sky-blue eyes enlarged as she stared at him, but she immediately looked away. He stood there, imperturbable. And as she disappeared, the spell was broken. He felt free again, he could move again, and went to search for his horse. And still he caught himself looking over his shoulder one too many times.

* * *

_No! _

_No, I won't go! He will not force me! _

_Gríma! Let me go! I scream. He pulls my arm, red welts show where his fingers grasp me. I try to pull away, but he tightens his grip. _

_Suddenly, his hand lets go of me. It's Faramir, who grabs him by the neck. Leave her alone! he rages. He throws Gríma aside, and Wormtongue vanishes. Faramir walks towards me. Eowyn, he whispers._

_Eowyn! Eomer stands on my right, Théoden behind him. They wait for me before the gates of Edoras. Eowyn, stay with me, my brother begs. I need you…_

_I look back at Faramir, on my left. I feel that my future waits for me, there, with him – and yet, I become aware of his father's shadow, haunting him. Faramir looks at me, his beautiful grey-blue eyes stare at me. He sighs. He raises his arms, then lets them fall down again in despair. I do not want to lose what I've finally found, his words echo in my mind as he repeats them over and over again. I won't live without him, I want to hear his voice again, his soft voice, but it seems to fade with every word he speaks. No!_

_Eowyn, Eowyn, my brother calls me again. I can see through you, I know you! Don't go! You belong here! Théoden calls my name, but it gets weaker by the minute. Their words seem nothing compared to Faramir's – but I can't forget them._

_Eomer and Théoden… I can't leave them either! I can't let go of them!_

_Edoras disappears, Minas Tirith disappears, Rohan and Gondor vanish. All that is left are three men, waiting for me. My heart tears into pieces._

_And suddenly I'm going under, I'm falling. I'm lying upon my side. How did I get here? The air seems to keep me from rising – it's heavy, so heavy._

_A hand grabs me by the shoulder, turns me upon my back. I see a pair of grey-blue eyes watching me. I reach out…_

Eowyn looked up. No, it wasn't Faramir who had saved her. The room was empty, and she shivered. Sweat poured off her face.

She sighed. The last time a nightmare had troubled her, Faramir had kissed her, but this time he wasn't around to save her. He was in prison, and she didn't feel like going in there right now. And still… she wanted to see him again. She wanted his strong arms to hold her, his soft lips to touch her. She wanted to see his eyes light up when he saw her, as they always did.

She decided to try, and sneaked out of her room. As she entered the main hall, her uncle sat upon his throne. He looked weary. "Uncle?" she said, walking towards him. "Uncle?" As she reached the throne, she saw he was sleeping. Relieved, she sighed, and headed towards the cells.

Eowyn was lucky, the guard was asleep. She quickly took his keys and ran over to Faramir's cell. As she turned the key, she heard the lock opening – a little too loud, she thought.

Faramir looked up as she entered the room, closing the door behind her. "Eowyn? What are you doing here?" He straightened up, stretching his limbs. "How did you get here?"

"Doesn't matter," she smiled. "I missed you. Wanted to see you again."

"Why?" he asked, stepping towards her. "You look tired."

"I had a nightmare again," she said, as if to explain. "About you, again. And Gríma, and Eomer and Théoden."

"Me? You didn't say it was about me last time…"

"Hmmm…" she groaned. "I didn't want to then. It was about you, and Boromir too, and you had something to do with Théodred's death-"

"Wait, you dreamt about Théodred's death?"

"Yes. I did."

He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but closed it immediately. He wrapped his arms around her waist and affectionately pressed a kiss onto her neck. She smiled and ran her hand through his thick, dark hair. His strong arms pressed pulled her closer to him. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "for everything. I'm so sorry." She didn't bother asking him why – he had his own 'secrets' and she had hers. There were important things she had to tell him, but this wasn't the place, nor the time. He kissed her, and she let herself sink into his embrace. The kiss deepened, and she forgot about the horrible nightmare.

Suddenly, she heard the door opening. Faramir quickly pulled back, but his hands still held her. He let his right linger down her arm, and he pinched her hand. The couple stared at the door, afraid. Eowyn felt her heart beating faster and faster as the vague outline of a man became visible in the door entrance…


	11. Chapter 10

**_Hey!_**

**_Another longer, important chapter; things will change (again).  
More Gríma - and so, the arguement everyone's waiting for: Faramir vs Gríma! :D_**

**_Okay, I know it isn't perfect (far from it!)  
(eg)  
1- Théoden & Eomer just releasing Faramir without any decent arguement or anything...  
2- Faramir vs Gríma is quite short (but yet again, Faramir doesn't really know what happened so he couldn't say a lot about it)  
3- Oh and Faramir & Eowyn openly showing that they love each other (quite wrong?)  
4- Everyone's suddenly happy, everything all right, Eomer&Faramir suddenly best friends; everything 'happy happy joy joy'?  
(lol, one of my teachers used to say that - he's some sort of hippie)_**

**_Anyway, I hope you can forgive me for it! :) I was writing and I really wanted to finish and publish the chapter (& it was getting late xD)  
So... Have fun reading & please review!_**

**_Note: 'Roharafn' = 'Red Horse'_**

**Chapter 10**

She grasped his chest. "What if it's Gríma?" she panicked. "Shht," he whispered into her ear. He didn't know what had happened, but her uncle's counsellor seemed to frighten her.

"Eowyn! What are you doing here?" She looked up to him, frightened, and then turned towards the door. "Eomer?"

Her brother stepped into the room. "Eowyn. Get out." He stressed every word. "Now."

She let go of him and walked out, after one angry look at her brother. Eomer walked in. Faramir felt his heart beating faster. He was – even though he would not admit it – afraid of Eomer's judgement. After all, he had 'seduced ' the Horse Lord's sister, and the man would not be grateful for it.

"What was she doing here? Why did you call her?"

"I did not, she came to me."

Eomer raised an eyebrow. "In the middle of night, ignoring her uncle's rule?" Faramir swallowed. "That was her decision to make, I deem." He decided to change the subject. "So, why did you leave Edoras?"

Eomer scowled. He closed the door – after checking if the guard was still asleep – and sat down on the shelf that was supposed to pass for a bed. Eomer groaned softly. "I'm afraid the accommodation isn't very good," he grinned.

Faramir walked over to sit next to him. He somehow felt this would be rather serious. Eomer's gaze crossed his, and the Third Marshal sighed. "I went to Minas Tirith."

"You met my father." It wasn't a question, rather a statement.

"Yes." Eomer paused, doubting how he would say this, Faramir guessed. "I must say, I was… surprised… Your father-"

Faramir interrupted him. "- Thinks I am too meaningless, therefore, he does not want to set me free or include me in your bargain, am I correct?"

It was Eomer's turn to look surprised. "How-"

"All these years living with my father – I think I know how he thinks by now."

"So, you knew it, for all this time, that negotiating wouldn't work?"

"Yes – in a way." Faramir hesitated before saying more. "But I do not expect you to understand my father, he is far too complicated, sometimes I do not understand him myself." He saw in Eomer's eyes that the Horse Lord was getting curious.

"Tell me."

"Do you really want to know? Everything?"

Eomer nodded. "Now that I know how your father… thinks about you… I want to know why."

"Well, it started when I was five – Boromir was ten. It was then my mother died. And my father detached himself from us. He became a stern, sombre man, and my brother and I grew closer. We were equal to one another, and there was no rivalry whatsoever – even though my father favoured Boromir. He was always there to protect me, to keep me away from our father's wrath. Yes, often he was angry with me. Nothing I did – or do – was good enough. It was always Boromir being praised. I bet," he added, grinning wryly, "that he would not even look at me if I brought Boromir back to life."

"He never told you he loved you, not once?"

"No. And it would be very strange to hear him say that." He paused, staring at the darkness surrounding him, sinking away in thoughts. He remembered that one time…

_They were little, Faramir was eight, Boromir thirteen. They were running through the citadel, playing they fought against each other, Orcs against the Haradrim, the Men of the South – it wouldn't have been fair if one of them got to be Gondorian, the other one being an enemy. "Ha, foul Southron! Now I've got you!" Boromir shouted. He whirled the stick around in the air. And it only reached air since Faramir ducked, avoiding the blow. "Rather a Southron than an Orc!" Faramir yelled. "You shall not defeat me!" the eight-year-old shot back again, grinning._

_Boromir grabbed Faramir's wrist. He spun his brother around, who soon got dizzy. "Boromir! Stop!" His elder brother continued teasing him as he let him go, causing Faramir to fall down onto his knees. He straightened up, walked through the hallway – still shivering and unstable. Boromir laid a hand upon his shoulder. "Are you all right?"_

_Faramir stopped shivering, feeling better, and used his brother's inattention to punch him in the stomach. "I win! I win!" he shouted, continuing his race. Boromir grabbed the stick he'd dropped and pursued his little brother down the hallway. "No you won't!"_

_Faramir ran into the main hall, only to find out their father was inside, with his counsellors, debating about Gondor's defence. They didn't seem to notice the little boy, at least, not until Boromir's voice was audible. "I've got you!" _

_Denethor looked up and rose, staring at his second son. He walked towards him, furious. "What are you doing here?"_

"_We were playing, sir," was the only thing Faramir could utter._

"_You knew very well that there was a meeting in the main hall! Get out!"_

"_But- but Boromir is there, and I just escaped," Faramir said, still wholly absorbed by their game._

"_Leave, now!"_

"_But I-" Faramir began, being cut off by his fathers hand slapping his cheek. The silver steward's ring caught him, cut his cheek. He felt something trickle off it. He was bleeding._

_Boromir just came running towards them. He froze as he saw what had happened. "Father! How-"_

_Denethor waved his hand, signalling the boy to be silent. "You," he said to Faramir, and his tone was very grim, "get out." He frowned and gave his second-born a very angry look. Then he turned to Boromir, opened his mouth to speak, but closed it immediately. He punished Faramir, but he did not look at Boromir, not for once. He did not punish him, did not speak one ill word, but dismissed the boys._

_Faramir cried as he walked out – aware of the counsellors staring at him –, blood still trickling off his cheek. He angrily wiped it off and his hand left a red streak behind. Boromir laid a hand upon his shoulder, but his little brother shook it off._

_Faramir had followed his father's orders, then, as he'd always done, but he'd pouted a great deal as his brother was spared of any punishment. And still, Boromir had been there for him, for the entire time, worried._

It was at the thought of such memories, especially now, Faramir realized how much his brother had supported him for all these years, and how much his father hated him. _Maybe it isn't hate_, he thought by himself. _It certainly looks like it, though._

"And did you never try to change that?" Eomer suddenly asked.

"What?"

"Your father's 'hatred'. Didn't you try to make him love you, to stop him being cold and stern?"

Faramir frowned. "And how do you suppose I'd have done that? Do you think it ever occurred to me to raise any objections? If you saw my father, you should understand the power he has over someone. He makes you feel so little, so unwanted. He knows things, Eomer. Things Men should not know. Things for the Ithryn or Eledhrim to know." Eomer scowled as well. "Sorry. Wizards or Elves," Faramir explained. "Sindarin."

"Not that I'm an idiot, but I prefer Rohirric," Eomer laughed. "Or Westron."

Faramir grinned wryly. "Well, you do understand that I couldn't tell him how I feel? He would laugh at me, humiliate me. He would say I'm weak."

"_What are you doing here, boy?" His father's voice was as cold as ice, again._

"_I'm leaving."_

"_You should have been gone already. Boromir would already be in Ithilien, assembling and supporting his men!"_

"_Boromir is dead, father. And I am alive. Why can't you see that? Why do you always push me away?" Faramir felt a tear gliding down his face. It had been a long time ago since he'd allowed himself to cry._

"_Are you crying? Fool! You're just like your mother, always following your emotions, your heart!"_

"_Without her heart she wouldn't have been here, and neither would I or Boromir! She loved you father. I sometimes wonder if you loved her."_

_His father didn't even answer. "Go!"_

_Faramir groaned as he turned and walked out of the door. He would never understand this man._

This conversation brought back memories, and they weren't the best he had. Eomer saw it. "I'm sorry, Faramir. Even though we're at war… You're all right," he smiled. "So are you," Gondor's captain said.

"_I love you Faramir, I love you,"_ Eowyn's voice sounded in his ears. As long as he'd have her, he'd be fine…

* * *

_The dark-haired girl I saw in Minas Tirith walks Rohan's lands. She laughs. I'm completely enchanted. "Come," she calls me, and I follow her. We pass the White Mountains, the White City. Suddenly, large trees rise from the ground. Ithilien, I think. Do I see Eowyn there, Faramir? The green forest smiles down upon us as the girl guides me to a white city. It is not Minas Tirith. I can see a tower, reaching up to meet the sky. Where the sun kisses the sea, the horizon turns from orange to a deep, dark, blood-coloured red. _

_She walks to the edge of the hill we're standing on and looks down unto the city. "Dor-en-Ernil," she says. Her black hair waves in the wind. I look at her and she smiled. Then, suddenly, she's gone, and I'm back at Edoras. A strange squealing reaches my ears._

Eomer sat up. He heard the sound again. Whispering. He drew his dagger – one quick movement. "Who's there?"

Gríma entered his room. _The filthy snake!_ "My Lord Eomer… Your uncle needs to see you."

Something changed about Gríma. He suddenly stretched out to his full length, as if he could fill the entire room. His eyes flashed, dangerous. And suddenly he was the fawning dark counsellor again, looking up at Eomer from underneath his greasy black hair. He left the room.

Eomer rose and dressed. He thought of his dream: perfect. As strange as it sounded, the Third Marshal had fallen in love. What did that mean? Eowyn and Faramir in Ithilien? Were those two meant to be? And that city? 'Dor-en-Ernil'? It sounded familiar, but he couldn't figure it out. Maybe Faramir knew – they had passed the realm of Gondor in the dream, so he presumed it was Gondorian territory.

He tried to focus on something else and entered the main hall. "Uncle. Why did you want to see me?"

"You told me about Minas Tirith yesterday. Do you think talking to Denethor will help?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Faramir isn't the one we need when it comes to enforcing something. If we'd had Boromir, on the other hand…"

"Boromir's dead! If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't be in this mess!"

"Aye, that's true. I was thinking… Maybe we should release Faramir. He's no use anyway – not any more."

"Then Denethor would send him out to fight again."

"And if he s-" Eomer hesitated. If Faramir would swear an oath not to attack them, he would eventually be forced by his father. The Third Marshal knew now that he was under great pressure and that Denethor didn't care a lot for his son. He knew that the Captain of Gondor would follow the Steward's orders no matter what. So a pledge wouldn't help. "In the end, the Steward would send other soldiers, with or without his son."

Théoden nodded. "I guess we can set him free, then."

"Uncle, would you mind if I'd talk to Faramir?" Rohan's King frowned. "I guess not. Why?"

"Nothing special… I just want to talk to him before he leaves."

He left the main hall and ran into Eowyn. He stopped her before she could rush past him. "We're releasing Faramir." "What?" She stared at him in disbelief. "Could you repeat that, I think I misunderstood." "We're setting him free, Eowyn." She fell upon his neck. "That's amazing!"

He scowled, gently pushing her away. "Shht, sister. Not everyone in Meduseld needs to hear. Besides, if we set him free, it means he will leave." He didn't want to be the one to destroy her dreams about Faramir, but she would find out soon enough that life wasn't perfect.

She bit her lip. "Yes, that is true. I want to speak to him first, brother."

"I'll talk to him. And I'll see what I can do to give you two some private time. Wait here, this won't take long."

He entered Faramir's cell. The man was sitting down, staring up at the ceiling. "Ah, here's the steward's son. How does it feel to be free again?"

Faramir straightened up. "What?" He frowned.

"You're free."

"No, you're… That can't… How…?" He couldn't even talk properly…

"I'm serious."

"I- That's amazing! Why-"

Eomer interrupted him. "Frankly? You're no use to us any more. And I couldn't bear seeing my sister so unhappy."

"You know?"

"Faramir, how could I not know after seeing you when I walked in?"

"Aye, that's true," he shrugged. "And… How do you feel about it – about me and Eowyn?"

"Fine, I guess. As long as you don't do her any harm and she's happy."

"Is that a warning, my friend?" Faramir scowled and seemed to laugh at the same time.

"Yes. I'll find you if you ever hurt her in any way. Now, get out."

Faramir laughed. "Fine. Glad I'm rid of you."

Eomer grinned. He was glad to be Faramir's friend, although in more than one way, this wasn't the best time to be friends with the Steward's son. Before he could walk out, Eomer grabbed him by the shoulder. Now he remembered. "Do you know what 'Dor-en-Ernil' means?"

Faramir turned to him and frowned. "Dor-en-Ernil? Lands of the Prince. The name used for the area of Dol Amroth. Why?"

"I-" Eomer hesitated. But Faramir looked friendly, so why should he lie about something that simple? "I met this girl in Minas Tirith… And she told me that she lived in Dor-en-Ernil. I recalled the name, but I couldn't figure out what it was exactly."

"A girl? From Dol-Amroth? Maybe it was my cousin," he joked. They both laughed. "If she was, I will find you if you harm her." Faramir repeated Eomer's words, but Eomer saw he was quite serious. "Then we both have something to protect and cherish," he grinned, and opened the door.

Faramir was rather slimmed, seeing him in the broad daylight, as he walked into the hallway. Eowyn waited for them there, and Faramir immediately ran towards her. They clasped hands and began to whisper.

"I don't mean to interrupt," Eomer stepped towards them, "but remember where you are."

They let go – mainly because Théoden walked in – and both turned to the King. "My Lord," Faramir bowed.

"Ah, I see you get along with Eowyn and Eomer," he grinned wryly. "I had someone saddle your horse. You're free to go." Faramir bowed again. "Thank you." And that was all he needed to say, his eyes said enough. His uncle even smiled. "You're welcome. Gríma will take you to your horse. Now go." And Théoden left for his quarters.

The three went outside. Eomer looked at the two as they embraced. He was quite stunned that they did so, considering the guards and people of Rohan, but, yet again, love was beautiful?

* * *

"Faramir, do you have to leave?"

"Yes, my love, I do." He cursed his father and his duty, but he could not stay here – he wouldn't be allowed to stay either. "I'll see you soon."

"What if you won't? What if-"

"If I'd die?" She looked up at him, eyes widening in shock, and he saw she didn't want to hear him say that. "I could die, Eowyn, but up to now I'm still alive, aren't I? Just promise me you'll wait for me, no matter what."

She nodded. "Yes. Yes, I'll wait for you. But come back to me." She seemed so desperate, for a moment, but then controlled herself. "Please."

"I'll be back. As soon as possible." He kissed her forehead. "I'll come back to you."

Then he let her go and embraced Eomer. "Goodbye, my friend." Yes, these were strange circumstances, and maybe not the time nor place, but he'd found a new friend and love. That was more important than any war.

The doors opened. Gríma walked out of Meduseld. "Come, I'll show you to your horse," he murmured. Faramir shivered at the tone of his voice. He looked over his shoulder while descending the stairs. Eowyn and Eomer stared at him, Eomer laying a hand upon his sister's shoulder.

They walked into the stables – really beautiful stables – and Gríma ordered someone to take Faramir's horse. They were alone. The counsellor's dark, angry eyes, were rested upon him. "You shall not live long, son of Denethor. Your days are spent. An enemy of Rohan is my enemy, and I tell you, your end shall be painful."

"I shall gladly die for my country, if that is my fate," Faramir retorted fiercely. He suddenly grabbed the snake by his shoulders and pushed him against a pillar. "Listen. I don't know what you did to her; but I swear, if you hurt her, I will kill you, and your end will be far worse that mine, Wormtongue!" The man shivered, and Faramir knew he was no man of battle, no man able to wield a sword. He was a man who spoke quickly and claimed another's honour in battle to be his own, saying he was the best strategist, claiming he was the one who was supposed to be held in high honour.

A stable-boy came towards them. Faramir let go of Gríma and took his horse's reins. He led the horse outside and left Edoras. Off to Gondor, off to face his father's wrath.


	12. Chapter 11

_**Hey!**_

_**I know it took a while before you got to see this chapter – but I was doing several things at the time. (e.g.: writing one of the last chapters in this story! *demonic laugh* Ha! Cliffhanger! :) Ooh, I'm so exited, I feel like publishing it right now – but that wouldn't work ^^ So: I know where I'm getting to, now just filling in the gaps... :p) **_

_**But enough about that... (Hope everyone's curious? ^^) I hope I didn't make too much mistakes in the chapter, I finished it in several hours (wanted to post it) and rushed through it... **_

_**By the way… In between the second piece (Faramir) and the third piece (Eomer) there's a time difference. Enjoy reading and please review :)**_

_**Explanations:  
**__**'Arheston = Noble Captain' (Quenya) 'Háuh' = 'High' (Gothic) forgot to mention that before…)**_

**Chapter 11**

"And now," he lisped, "you little friend won't be here to save you." In a flash she saw he uneasily brought his hand to his neck, swallowing and breathing heavily – but he restored after few seconds. "Neither will your brother…"

"Eomer?" Eowyn gasped for breath. "W-"

"I could convince your uncle to send his troops to Gondor's borders," he answered impatiently, baring his teeth in a most unpleasant way, grinning maliciously at her. "And then it will be you and me, once he's gone." His dark eyes looked at her – 'twas awful.

"Uncle-" she remembered him; but he interrupted her: "Your uncle is weak! Not even capable of seeing what happens in his own house! Yes, I saw you, you and your Gondorian friend! Traitor!" he swore at her, and then added a series of curses in Rohirric. She'd never thought her Native Tongue could be spoken with so much evil in vowels and syllables; it made her shiver. She wanted to get out of here. _If I would scream, would anyone hear me?_

"…but you mustn't worry," Wormtongue continued, "I can save you from the gallows; I can-" while he spoke to her of this, he brought his hand to her cheek, letting it slide down to her neck. She shuddered. "No! Leave me!" She stepped back, pushing him away. He snorted. "You'll change your mind, love; you'll realize you've made a mistake. Remember: you're alone." His voice, soft yet threatening, haunted her. He left her room.

Eowyn shivered. She sank down, leaning against the wall. How could this happen? She had just sat here and had heard a sound. The shadows in the corner had changed and he had crawled forth, talking to her, trying to make her feel miserable. _That's it!_ He just wanted her to feel miserable and awful, to think everything was her fault!

"Faramir," she whispered. "Why did he leave…?"

And now Eomer would leave as well. She wouldn't be safe – not even in Meduseld – especially not in Meduseld! And she couldn't tell her uncle, he had enough to worry about. Yet Eomer presumed Gríma bothered her, but what could he do?

She straightened up and walked over to the bowl filled with water, splashing some into her face. The cold seemed to bite her, and she wondered how she had become this traitor – already Wormtongue's words held her in their iron grasp…

* * *

Faramir splashed water into his face. He had hardly slept the other night. His father had organised a counsel about Rohan. He already didn't feel anything for it. It meant he had to deny his friends.

He'd felt lost ever since his arrival in Minas Tirith. His father's welcome had been harsh – what did he expect?

His friends all told him he had changed – he knew that. It seemed as if he didn't really care for Gondor now. And he knew that as well, thinking it might be his father's fault: _he_ had been the one to send him away, _he_ was the one that didn't care for him, _he_ had… tried to kill him – wittingly or unwittingly? He hit himself on the head in anger. _Stop it!_ he swore. _Stop your fretting!_

He sighed and took his sword, then girded it on.

His manservant came in. "My Lord," he said, "Your father sent for you. You must go to the main hall."

Faramir waved his hand impatiently. "I will come down in a minute." He thought of the last time he'd been here, in the steward's house. When Boromir had been alive… It was both painful and frustrating. He leaned on the table and looked down into the bowl with water. He saw his profile mirrored into the surface, a stern expression upon his face. That was what he needed: to hide his feelings.

He left his room cursing himself. He had to stop thinking like that! He had to clear his mind!

When he entered the dining room, breakfast already stood on the table. One plate. He didn't feel like eating… He grabbed an apple and bit it, then looked at it in disgust. His stomach turned. How could he eat now when it was both Gondor's and Rohan's future the counsel was deciding? He quickly threw the apple away and rushed out, off to the citadel.

The counsel already was assembled, his father sitting at the head of the table. All heads turned when he came in, they murmured; his father raised his voice: "Ah, Faramir. Come in. Tell us all about Rohan."

The steward's son scowled. "Where do I begin?"

"From the beginning, of course." His father's voice already became very soft – which wasn't good.

"Yes, of course… You all know that I left for Rohan, with my brother Boromir. And we stayed there with Théoden King's permission, and became friends with him as well as with his sister's children Eomer and Eowyn." He paused. "Théodred wasn't there, he was patrolling their borders. And then, one day, a man that belonged to his éored arrived in Meduseld. He told us that they had been attacked by Orcs. Eomer immediately decided to go and search for his cousin. And then… Eow-" He hesitated, then rephrased. "I thought the least we could do is helping them, so we followed Eomer and his éored…"

He swallowed before continuing. "We found the bodies – wounded and dead men. We helped the wounded; but then…" He cleared his throat. "Orcs." Until then, the men had been calm and had listened to him; but now they swallowed, bit their lips, widened their eyes hearing the word 'Orcs'.

"Boromir-" he continued, but his brother's face came before his eyes; he remembered the moment he was dying. "Boromir… He died. Shot by an Orc. I tended my wounds and hurried back to the city. And then, our steward…" Faramir eyed his father. Denethor did not show any sign of emotion. He looked back at his son – defiant. They were testing how far they could take this; how far the other's patience would reach. Faramir did not look down, he did not want to be the first to surrender. Denethor narrowed his eyes, his gaze hardened. Faramir gave in.

"My father sent me to Rohan to fight – to take revenge."

His father pressed his lips together. _Ha! One small victory!_ he thought.

"Eomer found us on our mission and would have imprisoned us all if I had naught stopped him. I told him to take me instead of my companions and he did, after I swore to keep my word." He raised his left hand, showing the scar caused by his oath. "I was brought to Meduseld and then released and I came back to the White City," he concluded.

He stepped back and waited.

Arheston, a former Captain of Gondor, with greying hair and a long beard, spoke first: "Revenge? Not even in my younger days I hath ever heard of a ruler grounding his decisions on his own feelings or hatred. Why does Rohan need to pay for your son's death when it was an Orc that shot him?" he turned to Denethor.

"They did not protect him!" Denethor shot back – but Faramir looked him in the eyes and saw his father knew he wouldn't be able to find a decent argument. He couldn't help grinning.

"Father, Théodred died as well. They defended their heir to the throne with their lives – everyone fought for each other's life as well as for his own. Forgive me my interruption," Faramir stopped himself as he saw his father's face turning pale.

He turned on his heels and walked over to the window. He looked down, seeing the people of Gondor – their people – walking upon the lower levels. The conversation went past him, he didn't care what they said. He saw stall keepers praising their goods, housewives buying them, beggars asking for some coins, thieves stealing from any possible victim, children playing,… There was so much joy and peace out there, and all he could do was complain. He followed a bird flying past with his eyes until it was out of sight.

"… Very well, gentlemen. I suggest we suspend this meeting. I will call you back when you are needed." Then his father turned to Faramir: "Why are you sitting there like that! You got me into this mess, you can get me out, boy!"

"W-"

Even before he could speak, a guard ran in. "My Lord!" he shouted, "Rohirrim have entered our country. We're under attack!"

Denethor dismissed him with a nod. Then he turned to Faramir. "It seems even your attempt to save your friends did not help," he smiled contemptuous. "When they attack us, even the counsel will not be able to deny there is a war going on – and we have to fight it."

* * *

Eomer nervously paced up and down the room. "Eowyn!" he shouted again. "Eowyn, come here!"

She entered, scowling. "What is it?"

"I'm leaving for-"

"Gondor," she said. "And…"

"What-?"

"Never mind…"

"Y-" His voice trailed off. Háuh entered the main hall, looking at the siblings sitting down near the hearth. "Eomer," he insisted. "We must leave now. Your uncle-"

"One more minute, Háuh."

The soldier bowed and left, his long blonde hair fluttering past his face.

"What is it, Eomer?"

"I… I just wanted to tell you… In fact, I've got several things to tell you," he laughed, baring his white teeth. "Firstly… I want you to know that I'll be fine – I've survived other battles, and I will survive this war." He laughed but then seriously looked at her. "And Faramir… I do not know what will happen to him; but if he were to die, know that it wasn't my blade that pierced him…"

"And that's supposed to comfort me?" she asked sarcastically.

He waved his hand. "I mean well. Anyway, secondly… Watch out for Gríma, please. I don't know why or what he would do; but I don't trust him. _Please_, Eowyn."

"I do not trust him either, Eomer. That's why I'd rather go with you."

"No, Eowyn," he said severely. "We had that discussion before, and neither me nor uncle allowed you to go – and that's the end of it." He paused. "About Gríma… I'd feel much more at ease if you'd carry some sort of weapon. I know it's ridiculous – but I-"

"Just don't trust him?" she finished the sentence again. "Don't worry, I've got a dagger. Besides, there are guards."

He bit his lip. "Yes, there are." He straightened up, she followed his example. "Goodbye, Eowyn. I'll see you soon."

"Yes, Eomer. I hope so." She suddenly grabbed him in embrace and he held her tight. "You will be fine sister," he murmured. "I won't be gone for ever." Then they let go of each other. "Take care," she smiled.

Eomer rushed out of the main hall and went to the stables to get his horse. He saw Théoden in between the riders sitting high upon Snowmane and spurred Firefoot towards him. "Uncle! How are you feeling?"

"War… How should I feel?" his uncle grinned wryly.

"I know what you mean. You did speak to Eowyn?"

"Of course. I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. Look, there she is," he pointed at Meduseld. And yes, there stood Eowyn, leaning against a pillar, looking at the riders.

Théoden turned Snowmane. "Come, we must ride. Follow me, Riders of Rohan!" he added, shouting out loud.

Eomer turned Firefoot as well. When they rode through the gates, he stopped to look behind him one more time. He beheld Edoras, Meduseld and Eowyn. And then he felt his heart racing, blood roamed quicker through his veins. Gríma had joined Eowyn. He cursed in any language he knew, the worst words he had ever heard. But he took an oath there, in Rohirric – the most beautiful language of all – to break every bone in Wormtongue's miserable body.

* * *

Faramir walked through Minas Tirith. A lot of people talked to him – were they glad that he had returned? Maybe.

"My Lord?" Mablung.

Faramir turned around reluctantly. "Yes?"

"Your father sent for you."

Oh, of course. He'd had his rest so now he could fight again, right? His father was so predicable, stubborn, stern,… And yet Faramir loved his father – for whatever reason. He sighed and followed Mablung, who grinned. "How was Rohan?"

"Good."

"How so, good? How can Rohan be good?"

"Twas fantastic, Mablung," Faramir added sarcastically – although it was partially true, his second in command didn't need to know. "And now leave me alone, I don't feel like talking."

"All right. Good luck."

Faramir frowned. What did he mean by that?

He entered the citadel. "My Lord?" He bowed.

Denethor nodded. "Captain Faramir. Rohan marches up to our borders – or should I say 'rides'?" His father sure had a humorous side… "You shall fight them."

"Father, not again!"

"You will. Tomorrow morning you will leave." He impatiently waved his hand and sent his son away.

Faramir didn't sleep well that night: evil dreams vexed him. He woke up sweating. The sun was rising. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. But he could not sleep any more. He walked over to the other side of his room, put his hands in the bowl with water. He splashed it into his face. It was cool and refreshed him. He frowned his eyebrows while thinking about what today would bring: the battle for Gondor – against Rohan.

His father had commanded him to fight, he'd had no option but to accept. This would not be easy. Still, he loved his father and didn't want to disappoint him. He, Faramir, would fight. For his kingdom, for his father.

What a captain he was! He was willing to sacrifice all these men – to take their lives. They would never see their houses, families, women or children again. And he would sacrifice them to fight for something he didn't believe in – all that to get some love and respect from Denethor…

Shivering, he put his clothes on. He saw the White Tree of Gondor, symbol of his beautiful kingdom, on his chest. It was put onto his clothing and he was proud wearing it. Next, he put on his armour. It shone into the new light of day that entered his room.

Maybe he was overreacting… maybe this would not have such an ending. And even so, he would fight to the best of his ability. Who knew, maybe his father would see his bravery and would recognize him as his worthy heir – worthy enough to be what was left from his father's blood, to continue the line of stewards. And if he did, what would become of his friends in Rohan? The way he looked at it now, he had two choices: to ignore his father's commands, betray his country and to be called a traitor by him or to follow his father's orders, fight, betraying his friends and to be called a traitor by Théoden, Eomer and Eowyn – Eowyn…

Aaargh! He had to stop thinking like that, he had to clear his mind! But he'd always thought that was a hard thing to do, he was never able to forget all these prophecies he made up, of fatal endings and failure, of finding death. And there he went again… He rolled his eyes – anything to make him stop thinking like that!

As his fingers reached out to grab the hilt of his sword, the memory of his brother came to him – in a flash. They fought to keep Osgiliath, they stood upon the bridge. And then it fainted again, and he let his fingers tighten their grip. His brother was gone, and that bridge was destroyed. When would he realize that it wasn't his fault? Was it?

He knew what his father would say: "this isn't a time for mourning, it is a time to fight".

"Time to fight, time to fight," he muttered. How would he be able to lead his men into battle if he wasn't sure where his allegiance laid?

* * *

Eomer shivered.

Winter was coming and here he was, fighting Gondor. He should have been at home, near the hearth instead of sitting on the muddy banks of the river Anduin… Sunlight became rare these days – in a manner of speaking – even for Gondor, which had a warmer climate compared to Rohan.

Too often, the Gondorians had crossed the Anduin to their side of the river, attacking the Rohirrim. Once, Firefoot had fled and Eomer had been forced to fight on foot, then.

And now all was quiet. He had not seen anything that could indicate a new attack.

Suddenly he heard the water splashing. Neighing. Horses crossing the river! And he doubted there wouldn't be riders.

He rushed over to Théoden's tent. "Uncle! There are horses crossing the Anduin!"

Théoden drew his sword and followed Eomer. "Let them come," he stated.

Then both walked to the river and watched the horses intently, ready to act if they got too close. Suddenly he grabbed his uncle's arm. "They're carrying a white flag," he exclaimed, pointing at the white cloth, almost unnoticeable by the mist-shrouds floating above the water surface.

"Halt!" Théoden shouted. "Who goes there?"

"We are messengers sent by Captain Faramir. He asks Théoden King to come to us and speak to him."

Théoden and Eomer exchanged glances. Eomer hesitated, but spoke at length: "It is Faramir. I think we can trust him."

"Maybe…" was his uncle's short answer. And then he seemed to make up his mind. "Aye, we shall come," he shouted to the horsemen. Then he turned to Eomer: "And you shall come with me."

Eomer smiled. "Of course I will."

* * *

Faramir nervously sat down.

"Why did you call for me?"

"Hail, Théoden King," he repeated again. "I sent someone for you because I cannot stand this war any longer. It is disrespectful towards our forefathers that we dishonour Eorl's Oath."

"Aye, I agree," Théoden said whilst sitting down. Eomer stood back into the shadows, watching the both of them intently. "What do you suggest?" Théoden continued. "Your father will not stop this. Not until he has revenge. The Oath of Eorl will not change that, I deem."

"Nay, there isn't much we can change. But I'm willing to try. I shall retreat to Minas Tirith and talk to my father." He paused, feeling awkward. "Go home, my Lord. Go back to Meduseld. Go to Eowyn. She needs you."

Théoden narrowed his eyes. "Are you to be the judge of that?"

"No. I am concerned, that's all. And I believe this is the only way of convincing my father. I almost convinced his counsellors that you are not to blame for this, and then you invaded Gondor, as if agreeing with my father. This _has_ to stop, and this is the only way of doing it."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

Faramir looked at Eomer desperately, seeking for help. The third marshal did not come to his aid. At length, the steward's son continued: "At least try, my King. A truce? If you want to, attack us again, but let me talk to my father, please."

Théoden and Eomer exchanged glances. Faramir waited.


	13. Chapter 12

**_Hey!_**

**_Wow, these chapters suddenly appear very fast ^^  
I know the 'Goodbye to thee', as Faramir says, probably isn't correct in plural (?); but I thought it fits the sentence so I kept it in :)  
I hope you like it (I know it's all somewhat about the same subject, but still put a little drama in it -in the end)_**

**_Explanations:  
'Roharan' = 'Red Horse'_**

**_Please review!  
x_**

**Chapter 12**

"Father, you must listen to me!"

"You betrayed me, why should I listen to you?" Denethor scowled.

"You _know_ this is unfair. You know you're making a mistake!"

"_You_ are the one making mistakes! Ignoring my authority, conspiring against me! You're a disgrace to your family! Not worthy to be the Steward's Heir!"

"I _am_ your heir now! Accept it!"

"Never! Why should I forgive you for what you've done? You destroyed everything; everything I've worked for! Everything your forefathers have worked for!"

"And what was that? Peace?" Faramir sneered.

"Gondor is and was most important to us. And it is our country you put at risk."

Faramir laid a hand upon the hilt of his sword. Denethor looked at his son, who immediately released it. "You know not what my intentions are! I only want our people to live and to be happy – I only want our country to fare well!"

"Then you have a very good way of showing it, boy!"

"Excuse me? _I_ am the one who stopped this war – stopping the death of so many innocents. What did _you_ do to help them?" Faramir asked defiantly. This was the first time in his life he had challenged his father – the first time he had raised any objections considering his father's reign.

"Leave me." His father obviously couldn't protest any more.

"No. Why should I? Give me one good reason!"

"I am your father!"

"You just can't stand the fact that you're wrong! Do you think _Boromir_ would think you should attack them? He would not want to see those people dying, and no longer do I desire to see that! I'm sick of it!"

"I do not care. You're Captain of Gondor and you shall do my will."

Faramir walked over to the window, snorting. He welcomed the soft morning breeze, inhaling the crisp air. Even threatening with Boromir's feelings hadn't helped… He only had one option left, his last chance, and he figured that wouldn't help much either… He walked back over to Denethor's black throne underneath the white throne of the king. "Father?"

"Hmmm?"

He felt some sort of relief. Maybe his father was in a better mood now… The thought gave him the strength to go on: "Father… I- I've fallen in love…" No reaction. "With Eowyn…"

His father suddenly looked at him. "What? Théoden's niece?"

Faramir swallowed. This was not a very good beginning… "Yes. And I- I want to marry her, father…"

Denethor jumped up. "Are you out of your mind, boy? We're at war! You can't just- you can't-"

"I _can_," Faramir said convincing. "You cannot stop me. If you do not give me permission I will ask her uncle."

His father laughed scornfully. "Why should I give you permission to marry the enemy?"

Faramir stretched out to his full length. "If you want me to stay…" But he knew it was a lost cause.

"Oh but you will stay."

"Who says I will?"

"You will not leave. _Love_," he sneered. "What good has ever sprung from that? No."

"What? No?"

"No. You will not marry this girl. She's not even from Gondor, Faramir! She doesn't even have Númenórean blood!"

That was like a slap in the face, but he restored. "I do not care! Even if she were… the poorest girl in the entire kingdom or something else that you would not approve of – still I would marry her!"

"No."

"Father, please! You cannot let your hatred against all of Rohan stand in the way of my happiness!" His father didn't react. Faramir slowly shook his head and turned around, walking towards the way out.

"Faramir! Stay here!"

The steward's son eyed his father one more time. "You give me no reason to stay. Once I was your son, but you never paid attention to me: all that mattered was Boromir. And yes, I loved Boromir and was glad in his stead that you praised him, but that doesn't compensate everything you've done to me." He paused. "I have even loved _you_, father. Yet you never cared. Whatever I did, it was never good enough! Whatever I said, the conclusion always was that I was stupid and talked before thinking it over. Whatever battle I fought, Boromir was always better, Boromir was the warrior and our true leader," he stressed the sentence, "and I could never live up to him. Well, he left us fighting and he died brave." He forced himself to calm down. "I carry a great loss, father, you do too. But, how much you would even want to, I hath never lived up to Boromir when he was still alive – and I can never live up to a dead man either. If that is what you want from me, then I can tell you now that I will try. I will try very hard, to the best of my abilities, to live up to your expectations. And I will fail." A tear glided down his cheek. "I do not want to spend my life that way. Not any more." Then he turned around again and left the citadel.

His father's answer followed him as he left the citadel, headed for the stables, took his horse and mounted it, rushed down the city – people staring at him – and left the gates: "No longer are you my son."

* * *

Rohan had always been beautiful, by day and by night, but this evening was exceptional, she thought, whilst staring at the skies watching the stars. She thought of that time she'd stood here with Faramir, when he had first kissed her. Little butterflies fluttered around in her stomach.

The night was cold and there was nothing but darkness surrounding her. She recalled Eomer and Théoden leaving so suddenly and she had cried when they had left her. Gríma had troubled her often, but she had threatened to stab him with that dagger once, and then he had left her alone since then; until the army's return. Her uncle and brother had been glad to return to Meduseld and told her everything that had happened. They had praised Faramir's courage to act against his father. And now she stood before Meduseld's doors, watching over the plains of Rohan, thinking of the steward's son. Would he succeed in convincing his father to stop this? Would he attack them again? Would she ever see him again?

Breaking the silence of the evening, she heard a horse's hooves thundering over the hard, cold ground down in the valley. A scout? At this hour? The sound stopped and she knew the rider had stopped before the gates. After some minutes a messenger rushed past her and entered Meduseld. She stared at the man walking past her wondering what he would tell her uncle. Another five minutes passed and the soldier walked out again, running towards the gate. The rider entered Edoras and walked over to Meduseld after giving his horse to a soldier. "Be good, Roharan," she heard the low voice talking to the horse. Roharan? That was not often used to name a horse – not a name at all – at least, not in Rohan… And that voice seemed familiar… Footsteps echoed as the man climbed the stairs, and he became visible, his face lit yet covered by shadows at the same time as he approached the torches lighting the balcony Eowyn was standing on.

"Eowyn?" "Faramir?" They both asked their own question at the same time.

"What are you doing here?" She was confused.

"I need to talk to your uncle…" he said at length.

"What for?"

He did not answer her question but took her hand and guided her inside. "Just come with me."

He let go of her hand, entered the main hall and stopped before her uncle's throne. Eowyn walked over to the throne and nearly bumped up against Eomer, who stood, passive as always, in the shadows behind her uncle. She grabbed his arm to stop her from falling. Her uncle eyed Faramir. "The steward's son," he spoke at length. "Why did you come here?"

"I have important matters we must speak of now, my Lord. But I'd rather do that in private…"

Her uncle hesitated, but ultimately turned to Eomer and Eowyn. "Go. We shall discuss this later if it concerns you as well as it does me."

The white lady of Rohan left, reluctantly, but Eomer came after her. "Do not worry, sister. You heard uncle. He will tell us." "I hope so," she smiled, and then left for her room. She heard her uncle calling for Eomer. _Oh, so he will hear it and I won't_, she thought sulking. She stood at the window, gazing at the stars again. And thus she stood for a while, until her uncle called her: "Eowyn! Eowyn, come here!"

She ran over to the main hall, running towards Théoden and Eomer, who stood upon the platform where the throne was again. "What is it, uncle?" she asked. He didn't answer, but kept staring at Faramir. When she followed his gaze, she saw Faramir hadn't moved. Looking at him made her heart beat faster and faster, and he looked up to her and their gazes met and she shivered – even though she grew warmer and warmer, hot air seemed to surround her and her blood rushed through her veins, faster than the quickest horse she'd ever seen. The experience of seeing him back – in the full light of torches, now, his handsome face serene and yet nervous – was beyond words to tell.

Her attention was again drawn to her uncle as he spoke: "Eowyn, my kin, can you explain this to me?" She held her breath as he paused – not even understanding why. "Can you explain to me why a man has come forth to claim you as his wife? Can you tell me why I have not seen before that you love him – or at least he says you do, my niece."

She looked at Faramir in uppermost astonishment, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do at all. He wanted to engage? Them to marry? It was so wonderful thinking about that, but right now it came as a surprise, without any clear hint been given to her in advance. Eomer laid a hand on her shoulder to calm her down, for he saw the distress suddenly striking her. "I… I… I do not know what to say, my liege – this is so unexpected, I never saw this coming; not even-"

"So you never knew?" her uncle interrupted. "Well, this is news, my Lord," he turned to Faramir, not waiting for her to answer his question, "you never asked her yourself?"

Her love straightened his back and looked the king straight in the eyes. "I did not consider it appropriate to ask the Lady herself- but surely, she must have anticipated herself, for she knows I-"

"Clearly, she has not," Théoden interrupted him, before turning away in thoughts.

Eowyn saw that Faramir had been talking in third person about her because he felt it inappropriate to speak directly to her in front of her uncle.

She fought the urge to run over to him and lean against his chest and let him wrap his arms around her, never letting go. Instead she stepped towards her uncle and started speaking to him in their own tongue, Faramir listened intently. "Théoden King, I-"

Eomer stopped her from talking and pulled her back. "Let him think," he whispered into her ear. "You are meant to be, Eowyn, the both of you. I can tell. Uncle will see." Her heart nearly burst out of joy at those words, for it meant a lot to her that her brother supported her in whatever she would do.

But Théoden looked up to face Faramir again. "No." Faramir's face became pale and he stepped back in confusion. "But why, my Lord-"

"Why should I return a favour – if you can call my niece a favour, which she is most definitely not – to those who have forsaken my lands and brought war upon them? Why should I give the dearest of my kin to a man not worthy?"

Faramir began leaving the hall, but returned and stepped forward stopping millimetres before the stairs that lead to Théoden's throne. He stood not far from the king now, looking up at him with a stern expression on his face. "Not worthy? How could you be the judge of what I'm able to accomplish or not? And no, I would not ever dare seeing your kin as if something ordinary to exchange, for both are close to me and it would offend me to see them get hurt in any way!"

"Even hearing those words, son of Denethor, does not please me, for my decision is made and I will not reconsider."

"My liege! You are the only one I can turn to now! My father has also declined my love for Eowyn to exist, and for that I can only beg you to accept!"

She knew he became angry, but he did not show it.

"Your father has declined? Why do you even dare coming here if your own family would not let you? I will not give my niece to the son of Denethor, war-bringer over my country; and that is final!"

"Lord Denethor no longer considers me his heir, Théoden King. He has rejected me and so I have left Minas Tirith. Does that change your mind?"

"Indeed not, for you have killed many of my people while your father sent Gondor's troops to attack us."

"I-" he hesitated. "…Nay, my Lord, I have nothing left to say." He nodded to Eomer and Eowyn, "Goodbye to thee, my Lord and Lady of Rohan. I bid you farewell…"

He left and Eowyn could just catch his eye falling upon her one last time. Then she only saw his back as he walked away.

"Well, that's settled," Théoden spoke. Eowyn ignored it and walked away, leaving both him and her brother behind – confused, no doubt.

She walked outside and let the fresh air waving through her hair. Faramir stood upon the balcony again. "This is not how I had anticipated…" he murmured.

"None could have foreseen this ending, my love," she tried to comfort him. He sat down, leaning against the wall. "Faramir," she sighed at length when he did not speak at all, "there's something I have to tell you. That time when I asked you to search for Théodred… I was… selfish. You- You had just kissed me that one night and-" She paused, searching for the right words to tell him. She looked down upon him, leaning against the wall, glancing at her with a puzzled look. "And I liked that. I really liked that," she realized now and confirmed it again. "But it was so confusing as well – can you understand that?" She felt like talking to a little child, and she thought he would feel the same way. But it was the only way she could explain properly. "And then, in that library, I wanted an explanation and you were as mysterious as ever-"

"I did answer your question then," he said, but his voice faded and he stopped to give her the opportunity to speak.

"And then, when we went riding and I kissed you – I-"

"Yes, why did you do that?"

"Let me finish!" she required rather irritated. "I didn't know what to feel then. I wanted to be with you and yet you frightened me in a way…"

"Why are you telling me this?"

She didn't answer but continued: "To be honest, you annoyed me at that time." She bit her lip. "I was… so confused and my feelings were so… opposite… Well, I don't even know how to put it…" She took a deep breath while his eyes still held her and she knew she had to tell him and so erase the guilty feeling that had troubled her. "And when the message reached us that Théodred could be dead; I was so confused – no, not confused, desperate. And I loved you then, I think, but in a way you were my 'key' to save my cousin. So… I used you, in a way. I begged you to save him and you were so much in love with me that I-" She stopped, everything she would say would make things worse.

He opened his mouth to speak but she didn't allow him to. "And I know that self-conflict and egoism of me brought you and your brother in danger – the Valar know I cursed myself for a million times after Boromir's death. And I know this doesn't set it right, and it's irreparable. And I am so sorry. I feel so guilty."

His face changed. She knew, at that exact moment, that he was disappointed and angry, even though he tried to hide it saying: "It doesn't matter. This doesn't change anything."

"Does it?" she asked sadly and scared. Then she sat down next to him, leaning against his chest. Her heart was racing at the pace of his rapid breathing.

He touched her hand, entwining his fingers in between hers; but then immediately let her go, straightened up and walked away from her, only a metre, maybe two, but it was a distance she felt never being able to cross. "I…" he uttered at length, standing there. He stretched out his right arm and used it to lean against a pillar before Meduseld's gates, staring into the dark night's sky. She looked at his strong back, shoulders tense. He suddenly turned his head to the left, not even seeing her. "I- Why did you do that?"

"I already told you! I was desperate, and you were so much in love with me and- I knew you would do anything in your power to fulfil my wish… I know that d-"

"You killed him," he said, sobbing. "You told me to leave and I did. Boromir followed me… You're the cause of his death." He started gritting his teeth out of anger.

She rose and walked towards him, grabbing his hand. "Faramir-" She faltered.

He pulled his hand away. "I need to be alone for now, Eowyn. I need to think."

He walked away. "Faramir!" she shouted. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know," he raged; left her and headed for the stables.

Eowyn was astonished. She had guessed he would be angry and disappointed; but seeing him leave now, like this, broke her heart.

She watched him leading his horse out of the stables, mounting it. Then he angrily pushed his feet into Roharan's flanks and spurred the horse to gallop, leaving Edoras.

She hurried inside, ran to her room and threw herself onto the bed. She didn't stop the tears from falling.

When, hours later, Eomer knocked her door, she didn't answer but he came in anyway.

"Eowyn?" he whispered. "I heard you were crying… What happened?"

"Nothing… I- I told him something he needed to know. And now he knows, and I-" She started sobbing again and Eomer, concerned, advanced on her. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, Eomer. Please, leave me."

He didn't say anything but sat down on the bed as well and pulled her closer. He ran his hand through her hair; a gesture that made her think of Faramir. "You will be fine. Everything will be fine. I know it's a cliché, but…" He smiled. "It _will_ be all right. You know, you scared uncle running out of the hall like you did when he sent Faramir away," he tried to change the subject. "He even asked me what he'd done wrong," he laughed, but stopped when he saw her tears didn't stop.

"Just leave me please, Eomer. I will be fine, as you said. Trust me."

Eomer nodded and walked out. Before opening the door, he turned around. "He didn't do anything, did he?"

"No. And stop asking. I will tell you if I need to! Now leave me alone," she repeated.

Her brother followed her order, but that didn't change the fact that she felt empty inside. And Faramir wasn't here to heal her. Not now. And maybe he would never be, not any more; not after this.


	14. Chapter 13

**_Info: I KILLED GRIMA (on Lord of the Rings Conquest)!!!!!!! WOOHOO!! What a feeling! :D If only Faramir could do that as well ;p Okay, enough crazy enthusiasm, back to the story :D_**

**_I didn't know if it's ethical (whatever, you know what I mean with ethical, I hope ^^) carrying wounded men with you on horseback, and carrying them over such a long distance while there's a war going on, but I figured it wouldn't be that bad. It was a rather crucial point in this chapter so I decided to let it happen (that way)._**

**IMPORTANT: I NEED YOUR HELP!!!!!! At length, Faramir will (he has to) return to Minas Tirith - but letting him return now is probably weird, although his father's influence on him is ... well, huge, I guess ^^ I don't know how to have Denethor react to everything that has happened - although he needs Faramir to fight for him (and Gondor)... Eowyn... well you'll read what happens to Eowyn below. I know it's very short, and it took so long, but I had tried to think of things that could happen except for this scene - and I failed :(**

**So HELP ME!!!!!! I need suggestions about when - and how and why (probably because he's got nowhere else to go?) - Faramir will return, how both he and his father will react to that, what happens with Eomer and Theoden,... Already figured out Eowyn's part (ty Fostersb!!!!)  
So please, review, PMS,...**

**_Anyway, enjoy reading!_**

**_x _**

**_Explanation:_**

**_'Baldor' = 'lord'_**

**_******_**

**Chapter 13**

Not even an entire week had passed before Denethor sent new Ithilien Rangers to attack Rohan; but this time the Rohirrim acted quickly: Eomer located them and chased them back to Gondor. "The next time I will not have mercy on them again," the Third Marshal of the Mark had groaned fiercely, after glancing at his sister – he apparently hadn't forgotten about that night when she had argued with Faramir, although he nor their uncle had spoken of it since.

Now the Rohirrim had learned their lesson: Théoden ordered his men to return to their former encampment at the banks of the river Anduin to besiege Gondor again. They found that the Gondorians had crossed the river and Rohan drove the enemy back – only to return to where they had started: both armies on one side of the river, biding their time.

Eowyn received a message from Eomer: _I have seen Faramir_. Eowyn knew that this was writing in anger: F_aramir had stopped the war to get along with Rohan, then he'd come to Meduseld asking for Eowyn's hand and then he cold-bloodedly returned to his father after making my sister cry_, Eomer would have thought.

But Eowyn underestimated her brother. While she had stayed behind and he had gone to war again, Eomer had tried to figure out what had happened; yet he did not have a grudge against Faramir. And whilst he fought and risked his life alongside their uncle, she had been alone again.

She tried to think of something else but Faramir, Eomer and Théoden, and left Meduseld – and Gríma – roaming Edoras' streets.

When she reached the palisade, several riders entered the walls, some carrying dead or wounded soldiers who had been sent home since they were unable to fight. One of them stopped nearby and knocked on the door of a rather small house.

"Yes?" a young woman appeared in the doorway and immediately laid a hand upon her mouth when she saw the young man the soldier was carrying.

"Baldor!" The girl put her arms around the wounded man as soon as he had reached the ground. "Don't leave me, my love!" Eowyn could hear her whisper. The rider that had brought the man home laid a hand upon her shoulder to comfort her, but she was focussed on one thing only: her beloved.

Eowyn saw the young man opened his mouth and spoke to the girl. Then he collapsed and the woman cried; she kissed him over and over again as if he were still alive, but Eowyn knew within an instant he had died.

She stared at them and felt a sudden grief taking over as if a dagger had carved into her skin.

So young and already parted by something worse than war or any conflict – death. Death, who doesn't allow one to see his beloveds again.

That could happen with her and Faramir! Had it not been too late already? They were separated now, and it was her fault.

If she could not be with him, then was there any use in her being alive?

**_******_**

**_I'm guessing you can guess where this is going? At least one of you will ^^_**

**_I'll try to update soon, but I need your help (repeat, repeat ;p)!!_**

**_x_**


	15. Chapter 14

**_Yes I know, this chapter could have been a lot better, and it's short, but it's just to scetch what everyone's 'been up to' :p  
Sorry for the long wait exams!  
Hope you like it, and reviews would be nice :)  
Next chapter(s) will give more details about these storylines out and put them together ((even) more).  
So, I'll be adding some of your suggestions till it's one story, thank you for sharing your opinion, everyone, and I hope you'll like where this is going!  
x, HeadbangGirl_ **

**Chapter 14**

A raindrop glided down his nose and dropped off. It was caught by his lips and continued its way from there, that way leading it to the edge of his chin, from where it dangled for a moment, and then fell off. _Drop, drop._

He ran his hand through his hair, which had become wet over the last two hours. _Drenched rather than just wet_, Faramir thought, annoyed. He wiped the rain off his face. Several drops got spread out and covered his face. Off course, that wouldn't have helped, but since he was soaked already it didn't matter whether he got dry or wet – it could only get worse.

_I have to get home, he thought, as soon as possible. I'm going to get a cold if I stay here any longer. Home_, he added in thoughts, sneering, _I can hardly call it 'home'._ But he didn't have another choice. He couldn't stay here, in these cold lands. Neither could he risk meeting any Rohirrim.

He sneezed. _Bloody rain!_

Pulling his hood further over his eyes, he mounted his horse again and rushed through the dark forests of Rohan. Getting home safely was most important now. Everything else… Eowyn or Eomer… it didn't matter…

* * *

Eowyn pushed her heels into Windfola's flanks. The horse shuddered for a moment before running faster. When Eowyn saw the vague outlines of the encampment and suddenly pulled the reins, the horse snorted loudly, indicating how dreadful it was of her to change speeds constantly. Windfola wanted Eowyn to make up her mind.

But she couldn't.

Seeing the battle scene made her doubt. How could she have ever decided to do this? How could she go to war, fighting Faramir's men, who were all innocent and probably unwilling to fight this battle? All the same facing her own doom – even though she could fight as well as any man.

She was disappointing her uncle and brother, who had told her not to go. Yet she would lose Faramir, with or without the decision she would make.

Windfola bowed her head, as if telling Eowyn to hurry up.

The sword weighed heavily, fastened up to her hip, the helmet seemed to give the weight of the world a literal meaning. She seemed to lose grip on the stirrups, her feet glided off them.

Even horseback riding seemed the most difficult thing in the world – while she had practically grown up in a saddle!

She dismounted and sat down in the grass, pulling some grass halms out whilst thinking.

It did not matter what Faramir thought, did it? She had let him down once, it couldn't get any worse. And Eomer… Théoden… They would never find out if she was careful. She would just mingle in with the other soldiers. And she would survive. Would she?

She eyed Windfola. The horse seemed calm right now, grazing.

Then she thought of the day before, when she had decided to leave, decided that Faramir was her everything and that everything had been lost. She had to go on. Quitting now was no option. Besides, if she would return, she would face Gríma again. He was the last person she wanted to see, the cowardly worm.

Taking Windfola's reins again, she started to walk downhill, and she prayed she would not be recognized.

* * *

Eomer stared at the newest member of his troops. "Why did you arrive here now? The rest of our new recruits arrived two days ago," he snorted.

The young boy – _he must be young since he's beardless_ – stammered and averted his gaze. "I…" he seemed to still have troubles with his voice, since it went from high to low. "I had to attend my grandfather's funeral, m'Lord," he said in a low voice.

"Your grandfather's funeral? And why did no-one tell me that?" he mumbled.

The boy shrugged. "I'm afraid I failed to tell them, sir."

"Very well, then. I see you've got your own sword, lad," the third marshal said. "You can join Gamling's troops, over there." He pointed in Gamling's direction. The boy nodded, sighed, or so did Eomer think to hear, out of contentment and ran off.

"Don't think you'll be better off when it comes to training, boy!" Eomer reacted to the sigh.

He shook his head. The soldiers these days, they got younger and lazier by the minute. How was he ever going to get this bunch ready for battle?

* * *

Faramir had passed the borders, seen Gondor's and Rohan's armies whilst keeping some (or rather: a lot of) distance.

The cold feeling in his chest had gotten worse now, and he felt as if he could collapse any minute. He hoped he would be home soon.

Indeed, it was a great relief seeing Minas Tirith rising above the hills.

Despite his sobbing, sneezing, couching, fever alternating between high or low, and a very cold body, he now felt a warm sensation creeping up from head to toe seeing his city. _His_ city. As it would be, if his father would want him to return.

He rode downhill and reached the gates, where several guards eyed him suspiciously.

"I'm sorry, m'Lord, but I fear your father has-"

"- Not obliged you to ward off his son. Please, enter this city again, Faramir," and all-too-familiar voice said.

Faramir looked up. "Father?" He couldn't believe it. After years of rejection and mocking, after the terrible mistakes he had made – especially over the last few weeks – his father had decided to let him in? Personally? Yes, there stood Denethor, spreading his arms as if to hug his son, who's world suddenly turned black as he fell off his horse, murmuring something.

* * *

Waking up, Faramir instantly brought his hand up to his head, and stared at his father, who was sitting next to his bed and stared back at him – was there a hint of concern in his eyes?

"What happened?" asked the steward's son in complete amazement.

"You fainted. You are ill, my son."

Faramir shivered. How strange was this, lying next to his father in his own bed – after weeks, even months. He could not believe how Denethor hadn't rejected him, but had welcomed him. As if he was Boromir – yet again, no, not _that_ enthusiastic. But still well enough. He felt at home. For the first time in a very long time. Truly home.

* * *

**_My anonymous reviewer, you're absolutely right :) I just didn't know what else could happen (I'm not good at making up things that have to happen in between, I always write the action xD My bad...) So, I'd absolutely love to change that part, only, I don't have a clue about what to add... any help would be welcome :) (y'know, at court I don't think they had a lot to do besides listening to counsellors talking and all... but that's probably my opinion that doesn't make sense at all ^^) Hope you like(d) reading anyway! Greetz, HeadbangGirl._**


	16. Chapter 15

_**Hey!** **Sorry for the looooooooooooooong wait; I'm currently helping out in our printing-company so, though I had every intention to update this story (which absolutely needed to be done!), I didn't really have time for it.** **But here it is, brand-new and waiting for you to read it!** _

_**Hope you like it, I'm trying to get action into the story again, so the thing with Eowyn that was normally planned for next chapter happens now. Anyway, the sooner this all happens, the sooner they get together, right? (Which brings me to it: sorry for the rush-like feel in this chapter, but again: the faster it goes, the faster you get what you - I'm guessing - want) **_

_ **I won't promise you pirates of the caribbean-like-weddings, but I'll try to make their next encounter good enough :p It's a little early for weddings, no? ** **Oh and if you were wondering what happened to Lothiriel, as soon as the story moves to Minas Tirith, she'll be in again (by the way, that joke between Faramir and Eomer earlier was really stupid, no? :p)**_

_**I do admit, Faramir's reasoning is always the same - and he does fall into acceptance again after defiance, but it'll fit later on. Besides, his father will... Nah, let's not spoil everything ;p**_

_ **So far my speech, enjoy and reviews are greatly appreciated! I'd love to hear from you - and again, sorry sorry sorry for the wait!** **x**_

**Chapter 15**

The homely image struck Faramir: he and his father sitting here at the table, eating together, like… it reminded him of the days before Boromir's death – only more tense. This time there was no brother to distract his father with talk of soldiers, documents or his horse – there was only the silence in between two broken men, muffled by the sound of a fork or knife touching their plates.

"Well… What are you planning to do next, boy?" the father tried to start a conversation.

Faramir tried not to raise his eyebrows – in which he succeeded poorly. "Hmmm… I do feel better, father, but I don't-"

His father coughed, but quickly nodded. "Continue."

"I don't think I should leave and fight Rohan – as you, no doubt, want me to do – because I do not yet have the strength to do so, firstly; and secondly, I do not support your warfare." His boldness did not strike him any more – he had defied his father too often lately.

Apparently, Denethor, too, could not care less, for a change. "I know you do not approve of my actions, Faramir, but you are not the steward. I am. My actions and decisions count, and when I die you can do whatever you like, but not now. Gondor and Rohan are at war, and you shall accept that."

"There are far greater things that should worry you, father! Things that concern Gondor. And if there ever be a mightier enemy than these two kingdoms, then Rohan and Gondor should reunite against it – not inflict unrepairable damages on each other."

"It's none of your business!" his father boomed.

"If I am to reign this country, then it is!"

Denethor made a fierce gesture with his hand. "I have no desire to discuss this with you now, boy."

Faramir bit back a tear. "And I thought we were finally getting along, father. Needless to say that I have been mistaken, for the thousandth time." He ruefully pushed backward his chair and headed for his room, unwilling to stay here any longer.

Once inside, he angrily shut the door and threw himself onto the bed, burying his head in the pillow. The entire movement, however, reminded him all too well of Boromir and their time in Edoras. It was his brother's way of going to sleep, and Edoras was where he'd last seen him do it. He sighed and rolled over, now gazing up at the white ceiling. His arm started to sting again.

He knew that his father's words were the ones he had to obey, but their wicked undertone was what he could not bear.

He felt his eyes close and slept for about two hours – the welcome slumber then being interrupted by Mablung, who knocked on his door. "My Lord?"

Faramir groaned and rose. He quickly checked himself but decided that his wrinkled clothes and messed hair were two things he did not care for at the moment, so he opened the door yawning. "Yes?"

"Your father wants you to visit the barracks in half an hour – like your brother-"

"Yes, like my brother used to do," he cut the man off. "I'll try."

"But your father insists-"

"I know. Leave me, Mablung!"

A hurt and astonished expression crossed Mablung's face, but he withdrew obediently. "As you wish."

Faramir quickly changed clothes, smoothed his hair and grabbed his sword before departing.

Boromir had always liked this job: meeting the soldiers, telling them how brave they were, drink with them – Boromir had always been the man with the sword, the one who loved to prove himself in battle and loved everything that came with it. Faramir had always considered himself as 'the younger brother watching from a distance' – a title he had always fulfilled with gratitude – and now his father had given him this task.

He scratched the back of his neck in frustration. It wasn't just visiting the barracks, it was also the heat falling on Gondor this day, his father resuming his irritated attitude when it came to his second son – ever second –, the doubts he had considering Eowyn – everything seemed to have been mixed together and thrown into his face; he had been given a slap in the face, all these facts were urged on him and none of them could wait, they all fought for his attention. He was growing so tired of it.

* * *

Eowyn began to hate the endless training sessions, she detested the orders Gamling, Eomer or Théoden gave her – she just wanted to fight. She had learned how to do it long ago, like all young men, so it surprised her that these trainings were necessary. Of course, one could not go to battle unprepared, but in her opinion this had lasted long enough.

It was after a few weeks, during which she hadn't seen combat, she dared protest.

Gamling was the victim. While he told them the weak places in the Gondorian armour, he took the sword out of her hands and used it to point at an armour stripped off a dead soldier. Eowyn couldn't take it any longer. The waiting lasted long enough and the commander surely didn't have her permission to grasp her sword!

She forgot Dernhelm, the person she pretended to be, and again was Eowyn, daughter of Théodwyn and Eomund. Irritated and dismayed, she stepped forward, shouting: "Gamling!" The officer looked at her, wondering why the boy had the nerve to call him by his name and not his title, but the 'boy' just rambled on. "Give me that sword! We've been sitting here long enough without action! I'm sick and tired of listening to your endless theoretical lessons! I came here to fight and I will fight; so give me that sword."

Gamling, for a moment knocked out of balance, shouted back. "Soldier! Back in line! And don't ever –"

"I don't have to listen to you!"

Eowyn realised her mistake and shut her mouth, but saw the other man striding toward her, her own sword raised high.

"Would you –"

Then his eye fell on the hilt, which showed a beautiful decoration with centrally the symbol of Eomund's house. He instantly understood why the boy – or rather: the woman he took for a boy – scolded him for his lessons. This could be no-one else, no-one but Eowyn.

He grabbed her wrist and took her to Eomer's tent, whilst shouting over his shoulder: "Continue your training, lads!"

* * *

Faramir woke up. His head felt so warm, his whole body was tingling.

He walked over to the other side of his room, put his hands in the bowl with water. He splashed it into his face. It was cool and refreshed him. He saw his profile on the water surface. A stern expression on his face. He frowned his eyebrows while thinking about what today would bring.

His father had finally talked him into riding to Anduin to defeat Rohan. Faramir detested and questioned the success of the mission.

This was a mistake. Firstly, he hated fighting Eomer, Eowyn, Théoden. Secondly, why did men have to fight – killing each other was no solution, in his opinion. It made no sense at all. And he would never be able to convince his father.

He hated the endlessness of this circle he'd got himself into, a never-ending tragedy in which he could no longer distinguish right from wrong – let alone which side he should pick.

Shivering, he put his clothes on. He proudly saw the White Tree of Gondor, symbol of his beautiful kingdom, on his chest. Next, he put on his armour. It shone into the new light of day that entered his room.

He walked out, buckling his sword around his waist. He remained calm – at least, on the outside. He quickly slapped himself, _stop your fretting!_, something he only did when his need was highest and he couldn't prevent himself from making up the most ridiculous scenario's about what could happen or had happened – anything that looked like it.

He quickly ate and walked to the door, when he heard another one opening. He looked over his shoulder, seeing Denethor entering the room. "Father."

"Faramir. Aren't you gone yet?" came the indifferent answer.

The son growled inwardly. He liked to imagine that it was the growl of a bear, one that could overcome his fears and have the strength to force this man, his father, to leave him be and end his grudge. Instead he answered: "Apparantly not, as I'm still here, father. I don't think that there are two Faramirs – one that's off to war and one that sits here, completely at ease, drinking tea with you and with whom you're having a nice conversation."

His father scowled but said nothing more.

And, in fact, this was a bit true. Faramir was timid when around his father, but when not near him he was surprisingly independent and competent. Perhaps he did have the makings of a steward after all. And this thought even crossed his father's mind for a second, but he almost immediately dismissed it, rather wanting to hang on to his beliefs.

"If only the second Faramir would follow the example of the first and be a bit more bold and a leader for once in his life. It would help."

The last sentence almost made the conversation sound like one between a grandfather and grandson, the first giving the latter some advice about life. Sadly, this was not the case.

Faramir groaned as he turned and walked out of the door. He would never understand this man.

He walked to the stables, took his horse's reins and mounted it. His soldiers – the ones that had stayed in the city up to now – were already assembled on the courtyard. He put on his helmet and waited for Mablung. His friend came riding towards him. "Are they all here?" Faramir asked.

"Yes." Mablung looked worried. "Do you really think that you could make it, Faramir?"

"I don't know… I'll have to. How do you feel? Ready for battle, my friend?"

"No. But we'll have to. I'm following you, my friend and captain."

Faramir smiled. "Thank you."

He gently pushed his heels into his horse's flanks. "Come, Roharan. Off to battle, my friend."

They rode through the gate, and formed ranks. Two lines. Hardly three-hundred men. All that could be spared. Faramir felt the eyes of the people standing upon the wall following them.

They galloped to Rohan. He knew that this was supposed to be the end. The end of war, for good or for wrong. Maybe it was best this way.


	17. Chapter 16

_**Hey!  
I'm sorry this took so long, really, it's been ages (again). And I know this chapter is really short, but at least it's something. I just wanted to update and since I don't have the time to type more today, I at least wanted to give you something :)  
So here is an Eomer-chapter!  
Enjoy it, for what it's worth!  
I'll try to update asap :)  
x**_

**Chapter 16**

As if to mirror his mood, raindrops fell down the skies onto the grass covering the banks of the river Anduin. Eomer ran a hand through his hair – which was soaking wet – and across his eyebrows. Trying to keep his eyesight he ran an even more wet sleeve across his eyes. Nothing worked.

Looking at the vapour over his head, formed by his shaky breathing, he tried to block the image out, like he was trying to block the cold out. You would've thought him a skilled fighter and used to some cold, but the combination of almost no sleep at all _and_ this cold were slowly flooring him.

The Gondorians could not be far away now. He heard their breathing – as unstable as his own – and the oozy sound they made while crossing the river.

His eyes searched for Théoden and Eowyn. He should never have agreed on her begging to join them. He should have sent her home straight away. A muttered curse slipped past his lips – by accident maybe, who was to tell? Already she bothered him, trying to force decisions on their uncle and meddling in their strategy. She seemed to have forgotten Faramir was Gondorian. In fact, she seemed to have forgotten all about him. How was he to know that she only wanted to take her mind off things, off Faramir? Only, the way she did was less than what Eomer considered 'normal'.

As the battles carried on – or dragged themselves along, really – Eomer began to lose hope. He had lost all credibility really, in the eyes of the Rohirrim and in his own eyes. This war was the result of a few people grudging over the past, and those people happened to be rulers. _Sad thing_, he thought grinding his teeth.

A sudden cry slashed open the thick foggy air. Eomer looked up scanning the scene – which appeared calm, but underneath the surface he sensed the upcoming battle.

He did not see who he expected to see, however, since the first one appearing out of the mist was Faramir, son of Denethor, and not the captain commanding the Gondorians for the past weeks.

His sister would have a fright soon.

He charged, not paying attention to who met his sword, just keeping the single thought in mind that whatever happened, this had to be over soon.


	18. Chapter 17

_**Hey everyone!**_

_**Oh god it's really been AGES! I would completely understand if you hate me now… but here I am, with a long update that hopefully makes up for everything ;)**_

_**From now on I'll really try to update regularly – I, too, hate it when stories take forever…**_

_**I also edited chaps 11 and 15 a bit 'cause I noticed there were some mistakes in them.**_

**_This gets a little poetic in the end - I wrote it in two times so you can sort of feel the change in style, but I don't think you'd mind, it changes when the good part begins ;)_**

_**Truly sorry, but here we go!**_

_**Explanation:  
**__**Angrethor = Iron Brother**_

**Chapter 17**

Faramir drew his sword, pointing it forward. He said something to his men, but he couldn't even hear it. His own voice sounded unfamiliar in his own ears, and he felt as if someone else was going to his doom.

The mist did not disappear. The soldiers were scared. The ghosts before them were men, but they could hardly tell the difference between reality and shades of the past, evolving out of mythical stories. The Rohirrim remained calm, not giving their position away – and the advantage nature had given them: they were surrounded by cane that concealed their presence for the most part.

Something on his left moved. As he turned an arrow flew past him. Apparently they _had_ been spotted. And the Rohirrim definitely took advantage of their position: they came from the left and the right, closing in on them.

He cursed. "Mablung! Take the men back to the other side of the river." If he could escape the Rohirrim's hold, he would be able to fight back.

The Rohirrim approached steadily, while the Gondorians moved backward; swords were pointed at each other, metal met metal, but for some reason the fighting did not cost many lives. It seemed more like a display of power. Faramir wondered why they didn't finish them off while they had the chance…

* * *

"Don't use all of your strength, not now!" Eomer reminded his men. With Eowyn on his right, he watched their soldiers push the men of Gondor back, waiting for them to reach the river bank, where they would spread out to climb it. With their ranks thinned out, they would be beaten more easily.

He took Eowyn's horse's reins and pulled them calmly so that she rode along with him. They turned around and moved to the back of the line so that he could have a decent view on the events occurring. If only his men didn't think him a coward… he hated not leading the charge, but there was his little sister to take care of now.

Firefoot impatiently scraped his hoof across the ground. _A few more minutes, boy_, he told the horse inwardly. "And, sister, what do you think of the situation we find ourselves in?"

She looked away, obviously uncertain of what to think. "If they are enemies of Rohan…"

"There is one that is no enemy of ours. One that holds your heart in his hand, and you his."

"He doesn't care. Not any more."

"You don't know that."

She sighed. "I did something he will never forgive me."

Eomer remained silent for a moment, then reached out to touch her shoulder. "You don't know _that_ either." He decided not to tell her Faramir was here, so that she wouldn't worry.

She shrugged, making it clear to him that he shouldn't meddle with her affairs, then made a sound – it almost seemed impatient. "Look! The Gondorians have reached the river."

"Good. Come." She put on her helmet, Eomer secured his own, making sure it wouldn't fall off, and they rode down the hill, mingling with their soldiers, now engaging in the battle as well. But Eomer made sure not to lose sight of his sister. And if he did, then Háuh would surely watch her, as he had asked his friend.

* * *

The sword pierced a man's throat; blood appeared everywhere.

"My Lord!"

"Mablung," Faramir yelled back at him, "cross the river. We need reinforcements. Find Angrethor and tell hem to move his troops to the right, and attack the Rohirrim there."

His friend rushed off, leaving him to face his enemies alone. And he killed whoever crossed his path, until he saw a figure that seemed to stand out. He made his way over, assuming it was Eomer, but as he approached he realized he must have been mistaken, since this man was slender and in fact seemed nothing more than a boy. He turned back around, deciding to find a solution for their precarious position.

* * *

The boy he had seen earlier.

He saw pure agony on his face. There was no other way to describe it. The contempt was clear.

But he himself had seen battles before, and would see them again. This wasn't the first, not the last. His sword would draw blood countless times again. His eyes would catch a glimpse of death again. His mind would hope not to be dragged with him to the other world again. The blood on his armour would appear again, the slight dents in his helmet would be repaired and smoothed out, only to be inflicted yet again, somewhere in the (near?) future.

And this young, innocent life, so different from his own, without a doubt, had been put in the scales, and his king was just waiting for this boy to make the difference, to make it slope to one side – preferably the winning side. And if this boy would be thrown into the depths, tumbled over the edge of the scales that were so fragile in balance, he would just be replaced by another innocent face, another life, another unimportant person waiting in line.

It was all a game. Nothing more than a game.

And all he wanted, more than anything, was to end it. And he had tried, numerous times even, but the powers steering this were above him. He did not have the strength nor courage to resist them, let alone alter them.

And then it happened.

When he avoided a sword, pushed it aside next with his own, and drove his dagger, which he held in his left hand, into the stomach of the man – the next life that was taken ruthlessly – his eyes fell on a patch of clean grass, not yet covered by blood.

A hand encircled it, for a moment, as if the person owning this hand was thinking the same Faramir thought: that this was absurd. Then the hand let go. Faramir could not help but remark that it was a slender hand. His eyes travelled upward, following an armour that seemed to be too large for its owner, to a helmet covered with a horse's tail. The face was so boyish, without a beard even – _do they already send boys to war now?_ He couldn't be older than thirteen, fourteen, fifteen at most! Eomer was losing his mind.

And then he noticed the strong yet elegant jawline, so similar to that of the one commanding the army of Rohan. The slender frame. This person would seem like a boy to most; too young to have developed even the slightest sign of what could resemble a beard, too young to have decent, broad shoulders, too young to have enough strength to wield a sword properly. And yet, he thought delightedly, the sword _was_ wielded with some… expertise. Head held high, despite the frightened look. Some blond tresses were just visible where the helmet started, forming a delicate frame for her fragile, beloved face. _Her_. Yes, _her_. This was Eowyn. He knew without a doubt that this was the woman he loved.

A strange, sweet sensation crossed his abdomen when their eyes locked for a brief moment. It was her, oh how beautiful she looked, how determined and proud and stubborn and lovely and –

* * *

She looked at the soldiers. They were all brave, fierce, fighters. They were nothing like the calm, gentle man standing in front of her, eyeing her with love and respect. He had recognized her.

She gulped for a moment, it was beyond her.

She forgot the sword in her hand. It might as well have dropped to the floor, slipped out of her hand – she wouldn't have noticed. The world faded, blurred, until only one person could be seen, only one existed: Faramir.

Oh yes, she had known it was him for some time now, had seen him fighting, hidden from sight by the other soldiers. She had recognized him by the slight curling of his hair by the base of his neck, where it peeked out from underneath the helmet. And the line of his nose, and the lines on his face – lines painted there by worry and a joy of life, two great characteristics of him that seemed irreconcilable and, nonetheless, were brought together in the form of one man. And of course the slight difference in his armour compared to that of most Gondorians had helped her. But she recognized, too, his long strides, the muscles in his neck, the strong shoulders, broad back, his proud yet timid posture, and most of all: the eyes. Those eyes, that carried a hint of grey, blue, and green, were so special and plain at the same time. How she loved those eyes for their depth and reassurance and love and colourfulness and darkness and lightness and understanding and remorse and – And now they were filled with the lust for blood, it seemed, even though it were to save himself and in order to do that he had to kill others.

This side of him, though she knew it existed, had surprised her. However little time they had spent together, she knew him as a calm, gentle man, one that would not take a lot of risks, and detested war. A man that was good-natured, that cared for others, that would do anything to please everyone – especially her, she thought, smiling. And, while she knew he would protect her no matter what, if such danger would ever threaten her, she had never imagined him in armour, a sword in his hand, with bared teeth and a fierce, dark expression on his face.

In fact she quite liked it.

But when their gazes crossed a strange, tingling sensation crossed through her chest, touching at her heart, making it soar high and then, when some inexplicable pain attacked and clawed at her shoulder, it fell down at high speed, and landed with a muffled thump on the floor.

For a split second her vision blurred again, she blinked, and the next moment she opened her eyes and the pain crossed through her, but she also perceived a shadow above her. She had no strength left to discover its origin.

* * *

The weight was something he had not anticipated, thought, in fact, it was not such a burden to bear – albeit this time literally, he thought, almost amused even.

His nostrils were still filled with the disgusting scent of blood, and even intestines. The image of one man being gutted flashed before his eyes. On the battlefield he had been forced to restrain himself from vomiting, and now he was barely able to do this, but succeeded in the end. And this only because he was holding Eowyn in his arms.

Soon enough they reached a secluded place. He gently set her down and moved her so that she leaned against a tree. Oak, he guessed. Not that it mattered.

He eyed her anxiously. She looked so pale. He started to take off the armour and when the shirt underneath became visible he gently pulled it away from her wounded shoulder.

He cursed his own stupidity. _Why_ had he taken her away from the battlefield, _why_ had he been such an idiot to openly defy his father's orders and not kill every Rohirrim in sight? But how could he have killed this nice specimen, this woman that was as innocent as a flower growing in a meadow?

_Oh Faramir!_ he scolded himself,_ you're not writing a bloody poem for her! You're saving her – or that's your intent. Why were you so bloody stupid to bring her here the first place? They have a physician that could tend to her wound, no doubt. As if no other man can touch her… No_, he thought, that was not the reason.

He had brought her here because he loved her, and he wanted to put the past behind him, he wanted to forgive her and start anew. He didn't know if it would work, but he would try.

* * *

**_I wasn't sure whether to end here; but I thought that this was quite a nice 'ending sentence' and besides, now I've an idea for the start of the new chap - which will come soon enough, I promise!_**


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